Ancient History
by Spider Jerusalem
Summary: Following the aftermath of the end of Sly 2, Sly attempts to relax while distant memories keep coming back to get him. Final chapter now up.
1. Humble Beginnings

"Hey, turtle," Matthew rolled the words of his tongue to make the supposed insult sound as bad as possible. The small tortoise threw a meek glance over his shoulder. He shrunk away when he noticed who his addressee was.

"Actually, I'm… I'm a tortoise…" Bentley said in a voice that was already on the verge of tears. He spoke softly, and to the floor.

"Like it matters," the rhino threw back his head and laughed at his own joke. "Whatcha' readin'?"

"It's… It's a book on biology…" Bentley replied, still to the floor. The orphanage dorm room was monstrously large to one as small as the bespectacled tortoise. It was filled with two rows of beds, one on each side of the room the linen crisp white and fresh upon each one. The room was totally devoid of charm, from the gunship-grey beds, to the bare hardwood floor. Each orphan was allowed a single bedside cabinet in which to keep their worldly possessions, which in nine cases out ten wasn't very much. There was a bank of windows on the left side of the room, and it was under these that Bentley currently sat. Shafts of light cascaded into the dorm, revealing all the dust in the stratosphere, and just falling short of Bentley's tormentor's face. He was standing in front of where Bentley was perched fretfully on the edge of the bed, arms folded, triumphant.

"Biol-ogy…" Matthew said slowly, the word new and unfamiliar.

"You know… Living things? How they work?" Bentley offered, trying in vain to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was going. Although he couldn't see it, Matthew's brow was furrowed caught in a moment of abject confusion. Sadly for Bentley he regained his composure quickly.

"Well, turtle, just how are you going to do that…" He paused, leaning forward and plucking Bentley's spectacles from his face "…without your glasses?"

Bentley let out a low wail.

"Matthew! Give me them back!" Bentley cried, his voice choking up as he did so. "I need those!"

"What's the magic word?" The Rhino taunted. Hot salty tears of rage and frustration rolled lazily down Bentley's green cheeks.

"C'mon, Matthew," the owner of the bed next to Bentley said. He was a rotund pink hippo by the name of Murray. Not too bright, but Bentley had always be polite and civil, he kept pretty much to himself. Seemed he'd been woken by the commotion next to him. "Maybe…"

"MAYBE you ought to keep your mouth shut, fatty." Matthew snarled in Murray's direction. Murray stared sadly at his toes.

"Now," Matthew said, once again turning his attention to the crying Bentley, dangling his glasses seductively a few inches from his face. "Where were we…?"

"Leave him alone." A voice said calmly from the end of the room. The words struck Matthew like a bolt of electricity. He whirled his mammoth frame around to the end of the room. Bentley and Murray also looked up to the source of the outburst. The final occupant of the room was a small raccoon that was sitting on the final bed on the other side of the room. He wasn't looking at Matthew, or even at Bentley or Murray, he was quite calmly tying his shoelaces. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt with matching blue cap and boots. His black and grey bushy tale twitched mischievously beside him, and the beginnings of a smirk tugged at the lips of his mouth.

"What did you say?" Matthew asked dangerously.

"I said-" The raccoon restated, without looking up, "leave him alone."

The raccoon finished lacing up his boots and hopped cheerfully of the bed and strolled casually into the middle of the room, dragging his one extravagance, a meter high cane behind him. His was made of fairly ordinary polished wood, oak maybe, or possibly sycamore. The one notable thing about it was a gold coloured fixture at the top, in the shape of a triangular pointed question mark. He let it trail behind him the way other orphans would do with their teddy bears. Murray and Bentley gave him quizzical looks, Bentley's plight temporarily forgotten. They both knew the raccoon had arrived yesterday, but neither had managed to speak to him or get his name.

"Let's do this then," Matthew growled, tossing the glasses hap-hazardly on the bed in front of Bentley. The tortoise scrabbled to get at them, and clutching them tightly, stuck them back on his tear-streaked face. The raccoon looked disinterested, even as Matthew charged towards him. Murray winced inwardly; he'd seen this before, it was never pretty. He'd managed to himself escape a pulping only by keeping his mouth shut. As Matthew bore down on the small raccoon it was clear to Murray that the youngster was about to learn his first harsh lesson about living in an orphanage. Except it didn't really work out like that. The little raccoon didn't seem to paying that much attention, he looked kind of glazed, like he was somewhere else entirely. Then, just before Matthew was about to connect with a charged up punch, he sidestepped the brutish rhino, sticking out his leg as he did so. Obliviously, Matthew tripped straight over the raccoon's leg. Just as he began to fall, the raccoon rounded it off by swinging his cane round so that the metal end connected a glancing blow the back of the bully's head. Matthew careened into the floor, hard, face first. The raccoon calmly examined his nails. Matthew roared in anger and pain, and reared groggily to his feet. He spun to face his adversary, too angry even for words, screamed at the raccoon and once again charged him. This time the raccoon simply held up the head of his cane, and the bully violently head-butted himself to the floor. He lay there groaning whilst a trickle of blood oozed happily from his nose. Murray, laughed and clapped his hands in delight, Bentley simply stared on in open-mouthed awe. At that moment the head of the orphanage, Ms. Puffin entered the room.

"What's going on in here? If you kids are going to stay in here unsupervised you're going to have to be a lot better behaved than…"

She then noticed Matthew passed out and bleeding on the floor.

"Good Lord! What the devil happened in here?" she said, kneeling next to Matthew and cupping his head with her feathered hands.

"He fell, Miss." The raccoon said, in a weepy voice. Murray sucked on the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing out loud.

"He fell?" The portly old bird repeated questioningly. Murray never cared for Ms. Puffin. She was a humourless old buzzard with a nasty habit of confiscating the kid's cookies for herself.

"Yes Miss," The raccoon said again in his pathetic voice. "He was walking, and he slipped on the floor, and he banged his head on one of the beds, and…and…" His voice trailed off in mock crying. Murray let out a snort of laughter, but he managed to disguise it as a sneeze. After a few more moments of Ms. Puffins nursing, Matthew began to stir. As his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was the very person who had decked him in the first place.

"YOU!" He bellowed, struggling to get up.

"Shh, there sonny. You've had a nasty fall." Ms. Puffin cooed.

"I didn't fall!" Matthew near screamed. "That raccoon beat me up!"

Ms. Puffin narrowed her eyes at the youngster.

"Is this true, Mr. Cooper?" the old bird asked accusingly. Before the raccoon had a chance to answer, Bentley chipped in.

"He's delirious, Miss," he said, flashing her his book. "I've read it can happen sometimes when someone is concussed."

"What? Er…well…" Ms. Puffin faltered.

"NO! It's not true!" Matthew piped up once again, close to tears himself now. "He did it! With his cane!"

"Murray?" Ms. Puffin asked, approaching desperation. Murray paused. He looked between Matthew on the floor, and the raccoon stranger, arms folded, confident. Here was his chance to form a friendship with Matthew, to reach out to an individual who had had a hard start in life, to forge a tight bond that could steer the rhino away from his violent and insecure path. On the other hand; screw it.

"It happened just like, uh, Mr. Cooper said, Miss."

"NO!" Matthew cried from the floor. Ms. Puffin nodded, satisfied.

"Come now, sonny, you've had a nasty fall, you must've imagined it."

"I didn't…" Matthew sobbed. The head helped him to his feet and sat him on a nearby bed.

"You wait here and I'll fetch you an ice pack." Ms. Puffin said, striding from the room. The second she left Matthew leapt from the bed, his eyes burning holes through Murray.

"You're dead! You hear me? Dead, you fat lard-ass!" he said, his face inches from Murray's. Murray felt a static charge as rage gripped him in a refreshing white-hot fist. He reared up to his full height, a good few inches higher than Matthew.

"You'll what?" Murray asked quietly, folding his arms.

"I'll…I'll…" Matthew trailed off, catching the tone in Murray's voice.

"I think you should back off sunshine," The raccoon said with a smile. The rhino was stunned. He glanced between the trio, not sure what to say. His remaining shred of dignity was spared by the return of Ms. Puffin.

"Here's an ice pack for you, sonny. I think you'd better come with me to the sick room though, not sure I liken the sound of this concussion business…"

Her voice trailed away as she led Mathew out of the room. As soon as her footsteps had faded from their ears the trio began to talk.

"Thanks very much for covering for me back there," the raccoon said to Murray.

"Uh, no problem," Murray replied. "That guy's been bullying people around here for far too long. Uh, so you're Mr. Cooper?"

"Aw, heck, call me Sly." The Raccoon replied. "And you're Murray right? Well, looks like you were able to stand up to that guy."

"Shucks, it was just coz I knew I had you backin' me up," Murray said, blushing a little.

"That thing you did with your cane was incredible!" Bentley said, joining the conversation.

"Yeah, my Dad taught me those moves. It's all in the timing. So, what's your name?"

"Bentley."

"Sly," the raccoon said lightly shaking Bentley's hand. "So you're reading about Biology?"

"Well, er, yeah…" Bentley said, a little embarrassed. "Science interests me quite a lot."

"It's a good thing to be interested in. I'm sure you'll become an expert if you carry on the way you're going."

Bentley brightened up at his words. The trio stayed up long after lights out. Murray and Bentley learnt about Sly's heritage, Sly was told more that he could ever possibly need to know about science and Murray shared his ambitions with the pair. They told jokes, stories and finally Sly told the others what had happened to his parents. As they drifted off to sleep there wasn't a doubt in any of the three's minds that they would very soon be best friends.

And the rest, as they say, is history.


	2. Dishonour among Thieves

The elevator chu-chinged to the top floor of the apartment block with a sudden jolt. Sly pulled back the iron grille with a heave and pushed the wheelchair out onto the landing. The apartment was nice; not too shabby, not too posh, the way the three friends liked it. It was just down market enough so that they're staying didn't arouse any suspicion, yet it had the modern bonuses of not smelling like urine and being infested with roaches. The wheelchair squeaked softly over the worn red carpet, ploughing through pools of light that the odd upward facing light-shades in the building created. A slight draught blew through the corridor, making Sly fight back a shiver. Brown wooden doors created breaks in the scarlet coloured walls, as Sly rattled off his neighbour's rooms. Their room was at the very end of the hall, but Sly was a little scared of pushing the wheelchair too fast.

"So Murray's sorting things out for you at home, he says he's found an extension cable so you can use your laptop from bed. We've cleared out a space in the living room for you, and if you need anything, me and Murray will be here for you."

"Thanks Sly," Bentley said from the wheelchair. "I think I'll be fine. I just need to relax for a while."

Sly smiled over the top his friend's head.

"So what did they say?" He asked, patting Bentley on the shoulder.

"Well, you got the message that it's not a broken back, right?" Bentley said, straitening his glasses.

"Yeah, Murray got it a couple of days ago. They said they wanted to keep you in for a few more tests, but that was it.

"Tests," Bentley scoffed. "I could've told em' what was wrong."

"So what was it?" Sly asked once again.

"Well, what they said wasn't entirely true." Bentley said grimly, as they pulled up beside their apartment door.

"You broke your back?" Sly said, worry creeping into his voice.

"No, not entirely." Bentley said quickly, in a reassuring tone. "But I did crack one of my lower vertebrae. Don't worry; it didn't reach my spinal cord so I'll be ok. I'll just have to stay off my feet for while."

"Well that's a relief." Sly said with a deep breath as he fished in his coat pocket for his keys. Since their final defeat of Clock-La and Sly's subsequent escape for Inspector Fox, Sly had had to give up his blue gloves, boots and sweater. Hell, he'd even had to stop wearing his mask. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone out without his mask on. He felt king of exposed without it, and besides, he hated the black rings around his eyes. They made him look like he was permanently wearing glasses.

"Yeah, it coulda' been a lot worse if it wasn't for this," Bentley said with a smile as he tapped his shell. "I could be looking at never walking again."

"Jesus," Sly muttered under his breath, as he slotted his key in the lock. A portion of his brain was already automatically worrying about escape routes and laser beam alarm systems. He shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts. He was desperate to get out on a job again; he'd been cooped up for nearly a week now, lying low with Murray. The pair had been scaling new heights of slobbery, as they both usually relied on Bentley to keep the place presentable. It'd be a good long while before either of them could expect him to do anything like that again. Sly pushed the door open and slipped past the wheelchair to push the injured tortoise inside. The intense aroma of stale pizza and flat beer wafted out to Bentley's less than eager nostrils. The tortoise sighed the sigh of a mother entering her teen-age son's room.

"Murray?" Sly called out into the dingy apartment. "Our bestest-best friend in the whole world is here."

From one of the bedrooms the pair heard movement.

"Urr, Sly," Bentley asked uncertainly, "You did tell Murray he can't be too…physical with me, didn't you?"

"He's not to hug you." Sly whispered in Bentley's ear. "I told him."

"Good."

Murray came stumbling into the hallway, his face brightly lit with happiness. He charged up to the wheelchair, and for a moment Sly thought he was already about to violate their prior agreement. Bentley was obviously thinking the same thing, as a bead of sweat ran down the tortoise's green forehead. Luckily, Murray just about managed to stop himself from flinging his arms around Bentley and crushing the life out of him. He caught himself just before scooping Bentley up, and reluctantly settled for a handshake.

"Good to have ya back, Pal," Murray said with immeasurable pleasure in his voice.

"Good to be back, thanks Murray," Bentley said. His hand becoming lost in Murray's massive pink palm.

"Well, lets get this tortoise in front of the TV," Sly said with a smile. Murray nodded in agreement and retreated down the short dingy hallway and ducked inside the living room. With his path now unblocked, Sly went ahead and pushed the chair after Murray and wheeled Bentley into the living room. Here Bentley was able to bear witness to the full extent of how bad things had gotten in his absence. Pizza box skyscrapers, some five layers high were dotted strategically around the small-ish room. The one light source in the room, the TV screen, reflected off the empty coke bottles that lurked in clusters on the floor. Bentley thanked heaven for the light being off, at least that way he couldn't see any stains. He could see an empty patch of carpet next to the armchair, so Sly and Murray had indeed scraped him a small space amid the debris. Murray had already established himself comfortably in the armchair, and he patted the arm next to Bentley's space encouragingly.

"Here you go," Sly said, wheeling Bentley into position. "Anything I can get you?"

"No, I'm fine thank you Sly."

"Ok. Well, here's the remote, and just let us know if there's anything we can do for you."

Bentley accepted the remote control with a small smile.

"Thanks, I will."

Sly retreated to the back of the room, near the door, a meter or so from Bentley Murray and the TV and plonked himself down on a beat up fainting couch. It was partially obscured by several coats and some newspapers; Sly unceremoniously swept these items onto the floor. Bentley clucked disapprovingly from the other side of the room, but Sly paid him no heed. This kind of thing happened all the time. He got himself comfortable on the couch and lay back to see was Bentley had elected to watch on the TV. He strained to see it, for the tube was at an almost right angle to him, so he could only just see the screen. It appeared to be some nature documentary or other, Sly thought he made out the phrase 'Madagascan pencil mice' but he wasn't really listening. Bentley was sitting with his hands clasped together, all his attention focused on the TV. Murray had his arms crossed, and he appeared to be slightly glazed. Sly allowed his mind to wander for a while, safe in the knowledge that his friend was at home and safe. As was usual for the past few days, it wasn't long before Sly began to re-live the final battle with Clock-La. He kept picking over it in his mind, making absolutely sure that there wasn't anything he'd missed, no minute part of the evil bird had survived. Sly shuddered. Not that it really mattered, after all, with the hate chip destroyed there was no way that anyone could again harness the power of Clockwerk, and on top of that, the parts had wasted away and disintegrated as soon as the chip was destroyed anyway. Sly knew that there was another reason his mind wouldn't let him forget the final battle. He still remembered the monstrous Clockwork jaw bearing down on Bentley, the sickening crunch when it closed over his tortoise friend. In that moment Sly died a thousand deaths, the guilt that he felt was almost unbearable. It was the first time in his career that he'd ever felt vulnerable. He'd never been scared of anything in his life, but at that moment fear tapped him on the shoulder and knifed him in the gut. Sly knew it was he who had dragged his friends into Clockwerk's vendetta, but… He really couldn't help that, could he? Surely they wouldn't resent him for it? Sly once again lost himself in deep thoughts. Seeing the guys leave their gear behind had cut into him pretty badly too. He knew they were at the end of their tether but… He didn't know. Either they were just desperate to escape and there simply wasn't time to retrieve their gear or… or it had some deeper meaning. Sly sighed. He'd managed to postpone his feelings of doubt and guilt long enough to flirt and escape from Carmelita Fox, but that was only because he didn't believe in letting one's adversaries see one's weaknesses. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Doubts continued to gnaw at the back of his brain like a ravenous parasites. He hated nursing something like this. For all his cool and calm exterior he was never particularly good at bottling up his emotions. It felt like he was carrying a lead weight in his stomach. He knew that he was going to have to say something.

"I, uh, I notice that you guys left you gear behind the other day," Sly spoke up over the TV, trying to sound casual. He failed. Bad start. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Hrmph?" Murray said, jolted from his half-asleep state. Bentley merely threw Sly a sideways glance.

"I just said I notice how you guys left your gear behind after the fight with Clock-La." Sly repeated for Murray's benefit.

"I was wondering when you were going to bring this up," Bentley said shrewdly, taking off his spectacled and wiping them with a small cloth. "Thought you'd leave it for a couple of days, but never mind."

What did he mean by that? Sly cursed the fact that Bentley could read him so well, but it was hardly surprising, since the three of them were like brothers.

"Well, you know, just felt like, you know, you were deserting me a little." Sly winced inwardly as soon as he said this. Very, very poor choice of words.

"Deserted? Sly, I was unconscious for God's sake." Bentley said in exasperation.

"Look, forget it, okay? Forget I said anything." Sly said, trying to stop the situation escalating.

"I was just worried about Bentley is all," Murray chipped in. "I didn't even think about… I'm sorry."

"Seriously man do you know how insulting that is? After we followed you all over the globe?" Bentley ploughed on, ignoring Murray's attempt to diffuse the situation.

"I never asked you to come with me." Sly said quietly, a tinge of annoyance seeping into his voice.

"What?!" Bentley near shouted in anger and disgust. "You'd have never gotten out of the history museum if it wasn't for the pair of us!"

"I'd have been fine." Sly levelled at Bentley. Murray sniffled quietly from the other side of the room.

"That's cold." Bentley said earnestly.

"Look, it just pisses me off that you guys left your gear behind!" Sly snapped. "It's like you left me high and dry!"

"High and dry?" Bentley repeated, his anger rising by the second. "As I recall someone rigged the helicopter autopilot and someone else knocked out the pilot."

"I thought you were out of it."

"It was the last thing I told Murray to do before I blacked out."

Murray was too choked up to agree, but it was obviously true. Sly scowled.

"I was ready to go to jail for you guys." Sly said bluntly. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use that one.

"Yeah, but we made sure you didn't, did we not? And besides, I thought you said you didn't need us."

Shit. Now Bentley had him. Check mate.

"I didn't…I didn't mean…"

"And I bet you found time to flirt with the inspector while you were in custody." Bentley pressed his advantage.

"I didn't." Sly lied, badly.

"All this time we've followed you," Bentley shouted at Sly "sometimes damn near to the Gate of Hell, and the minute we need to have a break you start questioning us? I almost broke my back for God's sake!"

"Look, I just took it the wrong…"

"I almost broke my back on a mission for you and you think I'm deserting you?" Bentley was leaning forward in his chair and visibly shaking now.

"Hey," Sly retorted, "If Clock-La had survived it would have been lights out for everyone. And if it hadn't been for me you two would be still in that battery!"

"You're still the one who put us on the road to fighting Clock-La." Bentley said. "And that was your war not ours."

"Are you saying you regret being a thief with me?"

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth!" Bentley bellowed, somehow managing to get his nasal tortoise voice to rise another octave. "My point is that we didn't have to stick by you all those times but we did!"

"So what happened this time?" Sly said, his body crackling with rage.

"I can't believe you." Bentley said in his normal voice once more. He turned to Murray, who was doing his best to suppress his sobs. "Could you take me out of here?"

Murray nodded wordlessly and wiped his face along the length of his arm and hoisted himself out of his chair to wheel Bentley back out of the apartment. Sly sat sulkily on the couch like a kid who'd been scolded. Murray wheeled Bentley in the direction of the door.

"I think you've got some growing up to do." Bentley threw at Sly as they were passing. Sly rolled his eyes. Murray gave him a tearful shrug and a heartbreaking look before the pair disappeared from sight. The front door was slammed shut, and Sly Cooper was left quite alone.

After a few minutes mental ranting Sly stood, violently kicked over a stack of pizza boxes and stormed into his room. Hurling himself on his clumsily made bed, Bentley's last words and Murray's tragic look had emblazed themselves on his mind. What the hell had he just done? Was he really so arrogant these days that he thought his two best friends in the world revolved around him? So paranoid that he saw an act of desperation as a personal threat? Did he really treat his crimes as a joke, having fun and flirting while Murray and Bentley picked up the pieces and did all the hard work? Was he really that ungrateful? He had to find them. He sighed deeply, swore loudly at the ceiling and raced out of the apartment, pausing only briefly to snatch his keys from the hallway table. As he dashed out he remembered why he was such close friends with Murray and Bentley. He knew in his heart of hearts that they would do anything for him. Christ, Bentley got himself squashed by nearly a ton of metal for him. He'd do anything for them too, he knew. It was just that he could be brash and insensitive at times too. He was going to have to grovel for this one. As he ran his mind cast back to a time when he first began to recognise the tortoise and hippo as family, a time when he was still stuck in the Happy Camper orphanage.


	3. The Crayola Incident

The dorm room was totally silent. The whole place was frozen in one single moment of anticipation, all the kids lined up waiting to be able to breath again. If you asked the kids in the Happy Camper orphanage the Majority would tell you that they hated days like this. The anticipation hung in the air like a tangible force. The abject terror when the adopters interviewed each kid in turn; the stomach knotting time while the prospective parents spent time in Mrs. Puffin's office and finally the feeling of rejection when the lucky chosen one was escorted to a new life away from the lonely orphanage.

That is unless you happened to ask Sly, Bentley or Murray. In a way, a strange way, it was the same for them. The anxiety before was just the same, but the three found that adoption days passed with waves of relief.

It was a stormy day, and rain pelted the windows in the dorm room like wet bullets. The orphans were lined up by their beds, military style. Mrs. Puffin could be quite formal and strict at times. Not much light came in from the windows, just a grey glow. The main light in the room came from the halogen strip lighting that lined the ceiling. It made everything in the room look a little too bright and washed out. Not that there was that much to illuminate. Mrs. Puffin insisted that everything the orphans owned be fastidiously tidied away (Which typically wasn't much anyway) in their tiny one-drawer beside cabinets. As it was, there was just the children standing at the foot of their beds in their most presentable clothes, and dozens of steel beds with neatly folded grey linen on them. Sly stood beside his bed, the first in the room, facing the door on the opposite wall. He was bedecked in his usual blue sweater and cap; they were among the few things he'd managed to salvage from his parents' house besides his treasured cane. That was safely tucked away under his mattress, out of sight. He cast his mind back to his parents' house. He couldn't remember exactly what it was like anymore, and that thought bothered him a little. He could remember the living room, with its worn carpets, stolen sixteen inch TV and his father's chequered slippers, and his memory of his parents were still as vivid as ever, but…somehow he couldn't remember what certain rooms looked like. The bathroom? Totally gone. His room? Only the vaguest recollection of the position of the bed and the colour of the walls. It wasn't a big deal; he just prayed that it didn't mean his memories would eventually fade completely. He pushed these thoughts aside for the time being, there was more important matters to attend to. He stood with his arms folded and back straight, trying his best in his young state to look defiant. He stared across to the bed opposite his where Bentley stood. He was wearing his smart red bow tie and grey shorts. Sly cocked his head forward slightly at him and widened his eyes slightly; the universal silent language for 'Are you ready?' Bentley stared back at him and nodded slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sly nodded back. He then glanced two beds down from Bentley and came to Murray, decked out in his favourite white vest top. Sly gave him the same look that he'd just given Bentley. Murray nodded vigorously and fished around under his mattress and produced a handful of crayons that he'd managed to swipe during last weeks art lesson. He flashed them to Sly and nodded. Sly returned the gesture. This got harder each time. He took a deep breath. The three knew there'd be no supper tonight, so they'd eaten as much as they could at breakfast and lunch. Silence continued to reign supreme in the long room. After a few gut churning minutes, the door opposite Sly swung open.

"Well, here are the children," Mrs. Puffin said on the way into the room. In tow behind her were a male and female dog; Sly wasn't sure what breed. They were both brown. The man wore a leather jacket and blue jeans, casual wear. He had large brown eyes, the left one with a patch of white fur surrounding it, short pointy ears and sported long black whiskers. Behind him his wife (presumably) entered the room. She too had large brown eyes but her ears were longer and floppier. She was quite slight and had long black hair. She was wearing a white fleece and blue jeans and had an incredibly warm smile. Sly groaned inwardly. It was always so much more difficult when they were nice.

"I'll introduce them all to you," Mrs. Puffin continued.

"Thanks, that'd be great," The male dog said, smiling broadly.

"Children, this is Mr and Mrs. Lake." The old buzzard said to the whole room. "Let's give them a nice warm welcome, shall we?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. And Mrs. Lake." The children said automatically in a monotone.

"I'll go through them individually with you, ok?" Mrs. Puffin said, turning back to the Lakes'.

"Yeah, sure, however you think is best." The dogs confirmed.

"Right then." She turned to child number one, Sly Cooper. She narrowed her eyes at him. Deep down in her stomach she knew how this was going to go. Sly smiled winningly back at her.

"This young man," Mrs. Puffin said grimly, and through her nose, "Is Sly Cooper." She gestured towards the small raccoon.

The lady dog crouched down to Sly and beamed at him. Sly grinned back.

"Hello Sly," She said sweetly. Her husband was now smiling down on Sly too. The raccoon forced his grin even wider.

"Hello." Sly said.

"How are you?" The lady fox said softly to him.

"I'm an orphan." Sly replied instantly, his smile not faltering. Mrs. Puffin laughed, too loudly. The couple exchanged glances.

"Right," Mr. Lake chipped in. "Fair enough. So what are you interested in, Sly?"

"I quite like stealing things." The raccoon replied, still wearing his sweeter than sugar expression. Mrs. Puffin rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Stealing things?" Mrs Lake repeated feigning shock. She had obviously opted to humour Sly for the time being. "Why do you like doing that?"

Sly furrowed his brow. "How else do you expect me to pay for drugs?"

"Right then, if you'll just step over here I'll introduce you to Bentley," Mrs. Puffin said loudly, ushering Mr and Mrs Lake away from Sly. The dog couple gave Sly wide-eyed looks as they backed away. Sly gave them a small wave as they turned around to Bentley. It wasn't returned. That was a good sign. Mrs. Puffin glared at him from over her shoulder.

"Right well, yes, this is Bentley," Mrs. Puffin said when the dogs had their backs to Sly and were just in front of the tortoise. "He's very clever, aren't you dear? Tell the Lakes' what you reading about at the moment."

"Well, I'm interested in physics, so I'm halfway through a book on electricity." Bentley said shyly.

Mrs. Puffin smiled at the couple as they smiled down at Bentley. Mrs Lake wore an 'oh how adorable' expression.

"So do you want to be a scientist when you grow up?" Mr. Lake asked politely.

"No, a fascist dictator." Bentley replied, it demeanour instantly changing. "I think if I get a head-start on bomb-making now then by the time I'm thirty the world's superpowers won't have a leg to stand on."

The couple nodded slowly, open mouthed at his words while Mrs. Puffin sighed deeply and stared at the floor.

"First I'll stage a coup in the middle eastern countries. With any luck they'll have an A-bomb or two I can swipe in the confusion. Then I'll hold Europe to ransom, maybe conscript an army or two. Of course this is all building up to the invasion of U.S. soil." Bentley continued. The couple looked completely flabbergasted while Mrs. Puffin stared solemnly down. There was no point in trying to gloss over this one. Why did they always insist on doing this? She swore at times that they didn't want to be adopted.

"Of course there'll be the odd political figure that will have to be, if you'll pardon the expression, 'slotted'…" Bentley paused. He heard a snort of laughter come from the direction of Sly's bed. "…But when I'm eighteen I can apply for a gun licence."

There was defiantly a poorly concealed guffaw from Sly's bed this time. Bentley smiled cheerfully at the couple.

"I…I think we'd better be moving along…" Mrs. Puffin said, not raising her gaze from her shoes. Both Mr and Mrs Lake were still staring at Bentley, and both seemed to have lost the power of speech. After a few more seconds of good hard eyeballing the couple moved on to the bed next to Sly, occupied by a little budgie girl. Sly grinned broadly over at Bentley and gave him the 'ok' hand gesture. The tortoise grinned back and gave Sly the thumbs up. Now it was just Murray left. As long as he could convince the couple that they didn't want to adopt him it would be plain sailing. Sly caught snippets of the conversation next to him, things like 'Oh, that's pretty… Do you like to read stories then? You're certainly very clever…' accompanied by all the oohs, ahhs and awws in all the right places. That was good, because if the other orphans didn't play ball then there was a possibility they could be in trouble. A very remote possibility granted, Sly grinned to himself. Somehow he couldn't see many people going for a master thief in training, or a fascist dict-wotsit, whatever that was. Sly made a mental note to thank Bentley for the line about the drugs. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but Bentley assured him that if he casually injected it into the conversation then it would be guaranteed to drop some jaws. It certainly did that alright. Sly continued to stand, waiting patiently for the grown ups to reach Murray. The hippo hadn't been quite clear what his plan was, but he seemed to be quite confident. All Sly knew was that involved crayons. After a few more minutes silent waiting, Mrs Puffin and Mr. And Mrs. Lake reached the small hippo. From across the room, Bentley gave Sly a small wave to attract his attention.

'What's he going to do?' Bentley mimed wordlessly at Sly. Because the tortoise was on the same side of the room as Murray, he couldn't see what was going on. Sly could only shrug as a reply. He returned his attention to the pink hippo.

"This is Murray." Mrs Puffin said without enthusiasm. She knew that if Cooper and Bentley were mucking about then Murray was sure to follow suit.

"Hello Murray," Mr. Lake said warmly, completely missing Mrs. Puffin's tone. "Say, what have you got there?"

Murray opened his hand slowly. Mrs. Puffin scrutinised the contents closely. Why did he have crayons in the dorm room?

"Ooh," Mrs. Lake cooed softly. "Are you going to be an artist?"

Murray didn't answer. Instead he stared wide eyed at Mrs. Lake, than at the crayons in his palm. Then he stared at Mr. Lake, then back to the crayons. Then to Mrs. Puffin, then violently and without warning he crammed the handful of art supplies into his mouth, labels and all, and began to chew furiously. Mrs' Puffin slapped a feathered palm across her face as over on the other side of the room Sly doubled up in laughter. Bentley craned his neck and stood on tiptoe to try and see what was going on but it was no use; he was just too short. He resigned himself to mouthing 'What?' repeatedly at Sly, but the raccoon was in no position to reply. In fact he'd started to chew on his cap to stop any laughs from escaping into the quiet room. Bentley still franticly mimed at Sly even as the tears ran from the raccoon's brown eyes.

Over on the other side of the room Murray emitted a belch that set off a few chuckles from the other kids in the room, and grinned a large, cheesy, rainbow grin at the Lakes'. The dog couple stared down at him, unsure of what to do.

"I think we'll leave Mr. Murray to it there," Mrs. Puffin scowled, moving onto the next bed, the Lakes' in hot pursuit.

"I lose more crayons that way…" She muttered, aside. As she and the couple moved around the remainder of the orphans, Sly recovered enough of his composure to communicate with Bentley.

'What'd he do?' Bentley said silently.

'He ate the crayons!' Sly mimed back slowly, fighting off the urge to burst out laughing once more. Bentley threw Sly a confused look. Sly mimed shoving something in his mouth and pretended to chew it vigorously.

'The crayons?' Bentley mime asked.

Sly nodded quickly. Bentley let out a tiny laugh, but thankfully it went unnoticed. Sly nodded quietly to himself. They should be ok.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Puffin and the would-be parents to work their way around the remainder of the room. The kids stood patiently as the last orphan was chatted to and the old bird led the dogs back up the middle of the room.

"Well, if we just step into my office for a cup of tea, we can discuss what you'd like to do next." Mrs. Puffin said as she walked. Sly noticed she carefully avoided any words like 'pick' or 'choose'.

"Children, you may amuse yourselves for a few minutes while I talk to Mr and Mrs. Lake." She said, disappearing out of the door with the couple in tow. The room breathed an audible sigh of relief, and several conversations broke out. Sly yawned and stretched his arms and legs as Bentley and Murray made their way over to his bed.

"Inspired." Bentley grinned at Murray as he reached the bed.

"Thanks," Murray replied shyly. "I didn't want to upset them."

"I think you did good." Sly said, hopping on his bed and lying down. "So what DO crayons taste like, anyway?"

"Waxy." Murray said, crinkling up his nose. "There's hardly any flavour to them at all."

"You had a multi-coloured smile for a while there," Sly laughed.

"Did I?" Murray ran his tongue over his teeth as he and Bentley perched themselves on the end of Sly's bed. The mattress squashed right down on Murray's side forcing the tortoise up.

"Thanks for that line about the drugs," Sly said to Bentley. "It really did the trick."

"Yep well, I told you it would." Bentley nodded.

"What's it mean?"

"I'll tell you some other time."

"Ah." Sly nodded. That was fine with him. He realised that it was probably something he didn't want to know about anyway.

"So what did you think of them?" Bentley said, changing the subject.

"They seemed nice enough." Sly said.

"I didn't really talk to them…" Murray said, almost regrettably.

"They were nice weren't they?" Bentley said. "Always makes it harder doesn't it?"

"Hmm." Sly concurred. "Still, gotta be done if we're gonna carry out our plan."

"Yeah," Bentley grinned.

"Yeah," Murray repeated, with his own grin.

Sly smiled at the pair of them. It would be so cool when they finally got out of this place. Just then Mrs. Puffin stuck her head round the door.

"Abigail, would you come to my office for a few moments please?"

The yellow budgie in a blue T-shirt at the bed next to Sly looked up, startled. Then hopping off her bed she walked to the door. Sly Bentley and Murray all gave her smiles as she passed, knowing that this was probably the last time they'd see her.

"Oh, and Murray, you too."

Or not. Sly and Bentley looked at each other in utter horror and then stared at Murray. The colour drained from his skin and he began to tremble slightly. He wordlessly slid from the bed causing Bentley to sink a few inches. He slung a terrified look at his two best friends in the world and paced to the door after Abigail, his steps somewhat shaky. The three vanished from view, and the door was closed once more.

"What went wrong?" Sly said frantically hopping from the bed. "I mean what did he do wrong?"

"Maybe they thought he was cute." Bentley said, equally franticly.

"You think?" Sly said, genuine fear in his voice.

"It's certainly a possibility." The tortoise gulped.

"Oh, this is bad," Sly said, beginning to pace up and down the length of the bed, his hands clutched to his chin. "This is really bad. He's our best friend! We had a plan…"

"Now just try to stay calm," Bentley said, not sounding calm. "Abigail went as well, there's a good chance they want her."

"Yeah?" Sly said sounding a little more hopeful.

"Sure," Bentley nodded, trying to convince himself as much as Sly. "You were next to her, how did her talk go?"

"Well, erm…" Sly struggled to remember, still pacing. "There was you look nice…and Abigail said thank-you…"

"Good, good…" Bentley encouraged.

"And then Abigail said that Mrs. Lake looked nice too…"

"Better," Bentley said, his hope growing.

"Then…something about music? Oh it's no good Bentley, I wasn't listening." Sly wailed, hurling himself over the edge of the bed, about to cry.

"Now, it's ok," Bentley said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Murray's cleverer than he looks, I'm sure he'll think of something."

Sly raised his head from the bedclothes to give Bentley a teary look. Bentley stared at him.

"We're doomed." He said morbidly. Sly let out a fresh sob.

"No, no, wait, it's ok," Bentley said continuing to pat Sly's back. "If the worst comes to the worst and Murray is adopted, then when you're a master thief we can track him down, can't we? And he can join us?"

"H-h-he w-won't wanna by t-then." Sly sobbed wetly from the duvet.

"Sure he will." Bentley said. "C'mon man, pull yourself together. I'm upset too but you don't see me…"

Bentley's voice cracked as a tear ran down his green cheek and he was unable to continue. The pair continued their quiet weeping. After what seemed like an ice age Mrs Puffin strode back into the room. Sly and Bentley both frantically rubbed their eyes. Never show the enemy signs of weakness.

"Right then children, that's that." She said. "I'm just here to get your friends things and then she'll be off."

She? Bentley and Sly goggled at each other. Just then Murray slouched back into the room. He gave them a small smile. Both Bentley and Sly nearly collapsed from relief. Certainly they both felt the need to crumple up on the bed. Murray stared on in confusion.

"Anyway children, its suppertime, so if you'll follow me," Mrs. Puffin said, retrieving a picture book and a small dolly from Abigail's bedside cabinet. "If any of you wish to say good-bye to Abigail we can do that on the way. Except for you two, Sly and Bentley. Your antics this evening has forfeited you that privilege."

Sly and Bentley tried their best to look sad in their moment of pure relief. Neither did a particularly good job. Mrs. Puffin rolled her eyes at them.

"You stay here too, Murray." Mrs. Puffin said, turning her attention on the small hippo. "I daresay you're too full up on crayons to want supper." A quiet titter went around the room and Murray looked genuinely crestfallen. He didn't seem to get enough to eat at mealtimes as it was.

Murray walked over to Sly's bed as the rest of the orphans filed out after Mrs. Puffin.

"Hey guys," he said in his usual laid-back manner. Sly launched himself at him and attempted to wrap his arms around Murray's bulky frame. Bentley didn't really have the stature to perform such a task and so was content to simply touch Murray on the shoulder from the bed.

"Er, hey guys." Murray said. He managed to prise Sly off himself after a few moments.

"Have…have you guys been crying?" Murray asked, looking carefully from Bentley's eyes to Sly's.

"Nah!" Sly said gruffly.

"Nope." Bentley said through pursed lips.

"Your eyes are all bloodshot."

"Yeah, I got some dust in them," Sly attempted.

"I think my glasses are too weak," Bentley offered.

A short while later all the other orphans were still at supper. They seemed to be taking longer than usual, but the three supposed that a lot of the other kids wanted to say good-bye to Abigail. Sly and Bentley were lying on their bed staring at the ceiling, and Murray had taken Abigail's bed to he could be next to his friends. It was still dark outside, and it was still raining, so there was an overcast twilight glow filtering into the room, accompanied by the shadows of the water running over the glass outside. Bentley had turned off the overheads because of the incessant humming noise they made, so there was just they watery grey twilight filling the room. This was the three friends favourite place to chat.

"So they didn't want you at all?" Sly said, getting the story straight for about the third time.

"I wasn't their first choice." Murray said, flat on his back, arms behind his head. "I think Mrs. Puffin was trying to push me on them."

"So she just brought you along to make sure they hadn't changed their minds?" Bentley queried.

"Think so. They hardly paid any attention to me; they were far more interested in Abigail. Puffin tried to suggest me instead but they weren't having any of it."

"Good." Bentley breathed.

"I was afraid she might pull a stunt like that at some point." Sly frowned. "She must have figured out by now that the three of us are…"

"Thick as thieves." Bentley finished for him. He was on his back too, but he had hands interlocked on his belly. Sly grinned to the ceiling.

"Exactly." He said.

"Well they wanted Abigail," Murray said. "Mrs. Puffin couldn't do anything about it."

"I liked Abigail." Bentley said.

"She was nice." Sly commented. "Hope she's happy."

"Well, they seemed like nice people." Murray said.

"Yeah," the other two said in unison. There was silence for a few moments.

"As long as we keep putting them off," Bentley said, changing the subject, "Puffin'll never be able to split us up."

"Right on." Sly said. "Any ideas for next time?"

"I've been toying with the idea of faking Tourette's syndrome." Bentley said in an off hand manner.

"What's that?" Murray said, glancing in puzzlement in the general direction of Bentley's bed.

"I'll tell you later."

"Ah."

"So what are we gonna do first when we get out of this place?" Bentley asked.

"I think we should travel for a bit." Sly said, after a few seconds' thought. "My dad always used to say that his favourite place in the world was Paris."

"Paris?" Bentley said looking up. "I've always wanted to go there…"

"That's the first thing to do then. We travel to Paris. Plenty of thieving opportunities in Paris."

"Yeah?" Murray asked.

"Oh absolutely. You've got the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the uh, orangey museum…"

"Musee de L'Orangerie." Bentley corrected.

"Right. And art sells for big money."

"We're gonna steal the Eiffel Tower?" Murray said obliviously. Bentley let out a little chuckle.

"No, not the actual tower, but they're bound to have something around there worth pinching." Sly explained. Murray nodded, understanding.

"How're we gonna get there?" He asked after a few minutes.

"Er…" Sly said. He hadn't thought of that.

"I should be able to help with that." Bentley rescued Sly. "If Sly can get us some money when we get out of here I should be able to forge us passports."

"Cool." Sly smiled. "We can hang around here for a while so I can earn us some cash."

"You mean steal us some cash, don't you?" Bentley checked.

"Oh yeah." Sly confirmed. "I think we could do with a set of wheels too, maybe a van or something."

"A van?" Murray piped up in awe. "Sly can I drive please, please, please?"

"Uh, yeah, don't see why not." Sly said. "We'll have to take a bit of time out so you can learn though."

"Cool." Murray grinned, wriggling on his bed with delight.

"We'll be the best gang of thieves ever," Sly sighed happily.

"Yeah." Bentley smiled.

"Yeah." Murray grinned.

The trio fell silent, each one planning what they were going to do with their two best friends. All three were thinking happy thoughts and they were all sure that they'd be fine as soon as they got out of Happy Campers. Sly had was thinking these things, but he also knew that pretty soon he was going to have to tell his friends that he had to recover his birthright. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but, glancing over at the hippo and tortoise, he knew that they were both up to the task, and that they'd stick by him. The greatest thieving gang in the world, he and his two best friends. Sly smiled yet again. He knew they'd be fine. He'd let them settle for a few months after they got out of the orphanage before he'd ask them to help him with his momentous task. He knew they'd all be fine. The raccoon slowly drifted into a calm and contented sleep.


	4. Rainy Reunion

Sly bolted out onto the street and looked around. The roads were wet from a light rain that was sweeping through the city, and within a few minutes a fair amount of it was clinging to the raccoon's fur. He pulled his black jacket tightly around him and raised his collar against the bracing wind. He couldn't see any sign of either Bentley or Murray; there were just a few pedestrians with umbrellas and the odd car that roared past. Sly frantically looked up and down the street for some clue as to where his friends had gone. On his second pass he caught sight of Murray's van. They'd had more than enough cash left over after the Clock-La affair to furnish Murray with a nice new transit. It was the hippo's most urgent concern after the well being of his green chum. The van was white, although at the moment it was caked with filth and mud from Murray putting it through its paces on the narrow Parisian streets. He had gotten around to giving it the gang's paintjob yet, which was probably just as well. They were trying to lie low after all. Once they got back on the job Murray would be able to fit it out with the gang colours and Bentley could give it all the usual refinements. At any rate, its presence outside their apartment meant that they must have gone on foot. Sly stopped for a moment. Now all he had to do would be to find somewhere likely within the surround in few blocks with convenient wheelchair access. Sly groaned loudly, ducked his head into the wind, and set off down the street.

The first place he walked past was a small wine bar in the next street, but with no wheelchair access he quickly ruled it out. He stood outside for a few seconds and breathed in the fruity aroma of the drinks inside with a sense of longing. With a sigh, he tore himself from the doorway, while overhead a blue fork of lightning divided the grey sky. The rain intensified, and within a few seconds Sly was soaked to the skin. He shivered miserably. He thought he'd check the Bar in the old indoor garden. It had been converted years ago when the tropical plants had stopped pulling visitors. Normally it was far too upmarket for the gang, but it would be a likely spot for Murray and Bentley to avoid him for a few hours, and Sly knew for a fact that it had excellent wheel-chair access. He'd robbed it a couple of times after all. Sly sloshed in the direction of the bar, and before long the domed roof appeared on the horizon. After a little more wet trudging, he reached the large glass doors of the front of the building. He pushed his way through, and shook off the worst of the rain in the entrance. Potted plants stood along the short corridor to the middle of the bar. It was just one big room; all that had been changed since it became a bar was that most of the plants were removed. There was a circular bar in the middle of the room that was manned by several bar staff, and radiating out from it were dozens of wrought iron tables that served as the drinking areas. Interspersed at regular intervals between the tables were more plants, large ferns and spider plants, and massive leafy trees that Sly couldn't identify. He supposed it was a harking back to the buildings' greenhouse days. The surprisingly loud patter of the rain on the glass roof near deafened him, and a quick glance up showed thousands of tiny waterfalls blurring out the sky. Sly frowned. He supposed he'd better have a quick scout around for his friends, maybe stay for a drink and beat it. He craned his neck from the doorway, scanning the tables one by one. Luckily, the place wasn't too packed; there were only a handful of people in at all. There were a couple of dogs at the table nearest to him drinking cocktails. He shifted his gaze onwards. All the people that were here seemed to be couples having a good time, laughing and drinking. He looked further on, and came to a table that was partially obscured by a tall fern. The occupant on the left side of the table, the side that Sly could see, was a large pink hippo, who was just under twice the width of the chair. Sly couldn't see Bentley, but he could see the outline of a wheelchair just before the fern. He sighed deeply. It was time to go and grovel to his two bestest best friends in the whole world.

He stalked towards the table as slowly as possible, trying to get what he was going to say before he got there. His cheeks burnt as he grew closer to the table and he had a prickly feeling running over his whole body. He still wasn't quite sure what he was going to open with, but he was sure he'd think of something. He hoped he would anyway, he was nearly there, a few more feet, round the fern, oop, shit, he was there.

At the sight of him at their table, Murray and Bentley's demeanour changed instantly. Bentley's face dropped all emotion and he stared into space, while Murray seemed uncertain how to react. His eyes kept flitting between Sly, Bentley and the three empty beer bottles lined up on the table in front of him.

"Hey guys," Sly began in a small voice. Bentley and Murray both made indistinct grunting noises in response. Sly guessed he should have expected that.

"Look guys, I'm, ah, I'm sorry about before."

"Yeah?" Bentley said, meeting Sly's gaze evenly.

"Yeah. I've been a bit stressed out lately and I was being a Jackass."

"Okay then." Bentley said with a smile. He nodded to Murray, who booted the chair in front of Sly forward so he could sit down. Sly took it gratefully.

"Really, I'm sorry guys." Sly repeated.

"Forget about it," Bentley replied. "Did it take you long to find us?"

"Not really. There are only so many places that have wheelchair access."

"Ah. Well I like it here. Opulent surroundings, pleasant staff, and a wine collection that'd rival count Dracula."

"I see. Remind me to stop stealing from here." Sly grinned. "How come you're drinking coke then?"

Bentley glanced at his half full glass with disdain.

"I'm on lots of interesting antibiotics, so alcohol is probably a bad idea."

"Right," Sly nodded. "So how're you doing Murray?"

The hippo emitted a loud belch and giggled with the vigour of a schoolgirl at a Chippendale show.

"Lovely." Sly commented. "How many has he had?"

"Almost three." Bentley said reaching for one of Murray's bottles. "So why have you been stressed out lately?"

"Aw, I don't know." Sly rested his elbows on the iron table. "I guess I haven't really come down since we defeated Clock-La. I keep thinking about how we first started out, how we used to be."

"They were cool times." Bentley smiled. "Remember when Murray ate the crayons?"

"Yeah!" Sly laughed. "How were they again Murray?"

"Waxy." The hippo declared.

"Groovy." Sly said. "Whose round is it?"

"Yours." Bentley and Murray said in unison. Sly should have expected that too.

"Fine." He said fishing his wallet out of one of his pockets. "Another coke for Bentley and another beer Murray?"

Murray belched again.

"Attaboy."

Sly rose from the table and strode over to the bar. He ordered a tall coke for Bentley and a couple of beers for himself and Murray, exchanged a few flirtatious glances with the cute bunny who served him and made his way back to the table. He plonked the drinks down in front of his buddies, took his seat back and took a deep pull on his beer. Outside the rain somehow grew audibly heavier and the sky darkened. Over the horizon there was a rumble of thunder. Sly slammed his beer down and sighed a sigh that had about three months in the making. This was the first time he'd really felt relaxed since before they started tracking the Claw gang. He leaned back in his chair and let his head hang over the back and watched the rain.

"This is the life." Sly said without moving.

"We can do this as often as we like now." Bentley sighed,

"Now that we've finished with Clock-werk you mean?" Murray slurred.

"Yep." Sly looked up. "Took a little longer than I'd planned, but…" He added with raised eyebrows.

"And now back to business as usual," Bentley finished the thought.

"I say we hit a casino next," Sly said in a low voice, leaning forward towards his friends.

"Are you kidding?" Bentley whispered, leaning in towards Sly as best he could. Murray was slumped over the table, so he was already within earshot. His eyes moved between Sly and Bentley the same was a dog's do when they're lying on the floor. "Casinos have the best security in the world. It'd be easier to rob a military base."

"Mugshot's casino didn't have good security." Sly offered.

"Big deal. You saw the state of Mesa city when we got there. I'm surprised the damn thing was still standing."

"I suppose." Sly shrugged. "Besides, I don't think we should rob them so much as…cheat."

"Ah, now you're talking," Bentley beamed. "So what, tap sensors, card watching, loaded dice, that sort of thing?"

"Whatever you say." Sly said blankly. Murray snorted a loudly. The other two gave him a strange look.

The three continued to drink and talk for half an hour or so, planning what direction they were going to take the gang now that they had accomplished all that they had first set out to do. Bentley was speculating that if they got enough money together they could probably buy a nice new place without arousing too much suspicion. Sly thought that at any rate they'd better have a back up hide-out, just in case. Murray suggested as coherently as possible that perhaps the reason none of them had girlfriends was because they all lived together.

"Well would you have it any other way?" Sly asked.

"Naaaaaaaaaaah." Murray explained.

"There you go. And besides, I've got a girlfriend."

"Ah yes," Bentley snorted. "The elusive Carmelita. A cop and a robber. How poetic."

"And what, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?" Sly enquired with a smile.

"It means," Bentley said through a barely contained guffaw "That you've got a better chance of forming an intimate relationship with Murray than you have with Inspector Fox."

At this Murray gave Sly a kissy face. The raccoon recoiled slightly.

"How supportive." Sly said, with a glance at the hippo. "And how deeply disturbing."

"I tell it how it is, man." The turtle exclaimed.

"Well I haven't seen you beating the ladies away lately."

Sly grinned. He had the little green smart-ass.

"What?" Bentley feigned outrage. "I'll have you know I have an active Internet relationship."

"And did you tell her, assuming that they are actually female, who you really are?"

"Of course! Bentley…the six foot tall, dashing, wolf."

Sly and Murray laughed loudly while Bentley frowned before emitting a small chuckle of his own.

"And that just leaves out little pal Murray," Sly said turning to the hippo. "Where do you stand romantically?"

Murray looked uncertain for a few moments before making the kissy face at Sly again. Bentley choked into the remainder of his coke.

"Dude." Sly said in repulsion. "I'll get this round in too, I owe you guys. Same again?"

Murray nodded vigorously.

"What the hell, get me a glass of the house red." Bentley replied.

"You sure?" Sly checked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine, it just means I'll get drunk quicker, one or two won't hurt."

"Okay then."

Sly paced over to the bar for a second time and ordered the drinks. While he was waiting he leaned against the bar and looked across the tables towards the door. There were less people in here now, most seemed to have opted to brave the torrential rain and gone home. Just then the front entrance was pushed open and a woman walked in. She paused to sweep her damp blue hair out of her eyes and to shake down her brown jacket. The fur on her face was wet and matted and her normally pointed ears drooped slightly from the water. The rain had made her jeans and the blue T-shirt she wore under her jacket cling to her like a second skin. She shook her head back to get all her hair behind her, and strode purposefully to the bar. Sly scooped up the drinks like a student at a wedding and raced back to the table, doing his best to keep his face hidden from the new arrival to the bar.

"Did you see who just breezed in through the door?" He said to Bentley and Murray as he handed them their drinks. The walk back to the table had seemed agonisingly long; Sly was half expecting to hear the sound of a shock pistol being fired at any moment. Bentley and Murray craned their necks to see around a spider plant to the bar.

"Uh oh." Bentley whispered as all three kept their heads down low. "Inspector Fox."

"Yeah." Sly hissed.

"Wadda we do?" Murray contributed. Sly raised his head a little, just so that he could see Carmelita past the fern.

"She's off duty…" he murmured, as a narrow smile spread across his face. At the bar Carmelita ordered herself a beer and slumped miserably into one of the stools.

"Cooper…" Bentley said slowly, elongating the word as much as possible, even as Sly began to rise from his chair. "No."

"She's never seen me without a mask before…"

"No."

"You guys stay out of sight, she'll catch us for sure if she sees you two here."

"No."

"Catch you later."

"No, Sly, no, no, damn it…" Bentley hissed frantically as Sly left the table, leaving Bentley and Murray behind.

"You see that?" The tortoise said to his friend. "I swear, if she doesn't shoot him, I will."

Sly strode over to the bar with purpose, a glint in his eye and a whole lot of lies in his head. He hit the bar at the stool just next to Carmelita and quietly sat down.

"White Russian, please," He said in his best English accent. The rabbit who was serving gave him a strange look but thankfully she didn't pass comment. She disappeared for a few moments to mix his drink.

"Hello there," Sly said, turning to Carmelita.

"Hey." Carmelita replied, non-committaly.

Sly filtered through all the chat-up lines he knew in his mind and came to the incontrovertible conclusion that they were all awful. The bunny returned with his drink.

"Thank you. I say, you look like you've had a rather hard day, care to unload a bit?"

"Yes," Carmelita said, looking at him for the first time, "But not to you, I'm afraid."

"Ah yes. Do forgive me, I was being far too over-familiar."

Sly pretended to catch sight of the police emblem on the side of her jacket.

"Good lord! You're a police woman?"

"Detective Inspector." Carmelita corrected icily.

"I do beg your pardon. Detective Inspector, eh? That sounds like a rum do."

Carmelita let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Takes a stern sort to be in that line of work. I daresay you've seen more than your fair share of carnage, Miss…"

"Fox. Carmelita Fox," Carmelita replied, opening up a little.

"So you see," Murray continued to a highly bemused Bentley, "Only two members of the fiendish five were truly evil. Clock-werk and Raleigh."

"I see…" Bentley said, massaging his temples.

"Raleigh was just looting and plundering for the fun of it, and Clock-werk was… well you know, Clock-werk."

"Right. And…Mugshot, Mrz. Ruby and the Panda King are excused, how?"

"Well, they all had bad upbringings. Mugshot was severely bullied, Mrz, Ruby had no friends and the Panda King was an orphan. They were pushed into a life of crime."

"Murray, we're orphans."

"And we're thieves."

Flabbergastered by Murray's use of logic, and even more that he was still able to form a coherent argument, Bentley drained his wine glass.

"I hope Sly's doing okay."

"You seem familiar, Sir." Carmelita said with narrowed eyes. "Is there something I should know about you?"

Luckily Sly had been waiting for this.

"Well I'm an actor by trade," Sly delivered smoothly. "I expect you've seen me in one or two commercials."

"Commercials?" Carmelita repeated incredulously as she drained the remainder of her beer.

"Well yes, I know it does seem rather vulgar, but regrettably Shakespeare fails to draw the crowds it once did."

"I love Shakespeare!" Carmelita cried, with slightly too much enthusiasm. Clearly, she was testing him.

"Oh really?" Sly carried on regardless. "Which is your favourite play?"

"The Tempest." Carmelita hissed through barely concealed mirth. Ouch. If Sly wasn't careful here he could end up either looking very stupid, or worse. The Tempest? Wasn't that the one on the island? Why couldn't she have said Hamlet, Goddamnit?

"Ah, Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices that, if I then had waked after long sleep will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming the clouds me thought would open and show riches  
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked I cried to dream again."

Sly made a little gesture with his hand at the end, as he thought an actor may well do. Carmelita's face showed a mixture of surprise, admiration, and…was that attraction? God I'm cool, sly thought as he grinned broadly. Finally, going to the theatre with Bentley had paid off. At this rate he'd have her back at the hideout before she could say 'Hey, you look a lot like a guy who I've been trying to arrest for the better part of two years'.

"Impressive." Carmelita smiled at him.

"Well, one tries. Miss Fox, would you do me the pleasure of allowing me to buy you a drink?"

Carmelita glanced at her empty bottle.

"Why yes, thank you. I'll have the same again, Mr…?"

"How remiss of me. My name is…" Sly faltered for the briefest of moments, "Stephen. Stephen Reilly."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Reilly." Carmelita smiled.

"Oh please, call me Stephen." Sly said. "Same again please barkeep."

The bunny bartender rolled her eyes at him, but fortunately it went unnoticed by the vixen. A moment later there was a fresh bottle of beer for Carmelita and another White Russian for Sly.

"You must think I'm very common, drinking beer while you're having fancy cocktails," Carmelita said, aside.

"My dear lady," Sly said with expert timing, "I scarcely believe that you could do anything 'common'."

"Hmph." Carmelita chuckled. "Flattery'll get you nowhere."

"Then might I enquire as to why such a beautiful lady such as yourself looks so down on a night such as this one?"

Carmelita sighed a deep sigh.

"Well, work's not going well. The commissioner's riding me into the ground, I've been demoted and I'm facing a tribunal next week."

"Demoted?" Sly repeated, his accent slipping slightly. Carmelita didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. I'm this city's whipping-girl now. I'm not respected by my colleagues, I'm given the most bullshit assignments in this city and it's all I can do to stay on the force."

"Sorry." She added, taking a large swig of her beer.

"Not at all. So… what brought all this on, Miss Fox?"

"Aw, I let a suspect escape." Carmelita sighed. Sly winced inwardly. He knew that he was the reason that she was having such a rough time as soon as she said it, but it still hurt to hear it confirmed.

"I had him it the chopper, we were on our way to the station, but he bailed and parachuted away. I could have shot him down but I didn't. I didn't have any excuses."

"Very…very noble of you, and all that… Not shooting a chap in the back…" Sly said weakly.

"It had nothing to do with me being noble." Carmelita scowled. "Normally I wouldn't have hesitated, but… Hell there was just something about that guy."

"Something that warmed you to him perhaps, if I might make so bold?" Sly said, regaining his composure.

"I don't know." Carmelita sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I hate this guy, I've been tracking him for years, but every time I get close to busting him… I can't do it."

Like you've ever been close, Sly thought to himself.

"Well, you never know," He said comfortingly. "Maybe you'll catch him yet, and it'll be just the boost your career needs."

"I guess."

"So… How did you first decide that you wanted to be a detective?" Sly said, anxious to change the subject. Carmelita stared forlornly at the bubbles in her beer.

"That's a long story."

Outside the rain continued to pelt against the glass roof of the bar.


	5. All Guns Blazing

The sunshine cascaded through the fluffy clouds and heated the land creating the perfect summer's day blue sky. It was the kind of day were if you were to lie in a grassy spot and simply stare up at the infinity of cyan above you, you could almost believe that you could fall off the planet and into the wild blue yonder.

Carmelita loved these kinds of days. She always had been an outdoors kind of person, and hated being cooped up on rainy days. However, even without the sunshine, the clouds that sort-of-looked-a-bit-like-people and the endless blue sky, today was rather special.

"Okay sweetie, just level the sights at the target..."

Carmelita squeezed the plastic handle so hard her hands went numb.

"Try to breathe steadily, that way it won't throw off your aim..."

She closed one eye and looked down the sights of the short black gun. Ten feet away from her a tin can seemed to wobble about erratically.

"And when you're ready, pull back on the trigger, gently as you can."

Carmelita froze. She closed her eyes for a second. In that moment there was just herself and her goal, everything else melted away. She squeezed the trigger. The top slide of the gun jolted back but Carmelita hardly felt it. All at once time snapped back to the present. A tiny nick appeared in the fence underneath the can. Carmelita hung her head.

"Ohh, never-mind sweetie- that was close!" Her father said to her encouragingly.

"I'll never get it Dad!" Carmelita moaned. "My aim's all wobbly."

"You'll get better," her father promised. "It just takes practice, that's all. Everyone's aim is wobbly to begin with."

Carmelita looked up at her Dad. He was smiling down at her, wearing his white t-shirt and blue denims that was typical for his day off. He had an almost empty can of beer hanging in his hand. Carmelita herself was also wearing a white t-shirt, but instead of jeans she wore a standard pair of sports shorts. She had resisted all of her mother's attempts to get her into dresses, and on the rare occasions when she was forced into them, Mrs. Fox quickly discovered that Carmelita's penchant for tree climbing, bug collecting and grass rolling tended to proclaim all but the hardiest garments non survivors. So t-shirt and shorts it was. Mr. Fox was delighted at his daughter's tomboyish behavior, and like all men quickly set about making things worse.

"Tell you what," Mr. Fox said, finishing his beer, "Why don't you have another go? Here..." he balanced his empty can carefully on top of the one on the fence. "Make the target a little bigger for you."

Carmelita waited for her Dad to back away from the cans on the fence before she raised the gun again. This time she didn't bring it up to her eye; she just raised the gun enough to shoot. There was no slow down this time, and she felt none of the pressure that she had the first time. She saw the cans fly off the fence and heard the loud crack of pellets on tin in gloriously fast motion.

"Wow! Way to go sweetie!" Her father hollered. Carmelita performed an excited little jump.

"It's easier if you don't aim at all, Daddy! There isn't time for your aim to get wobbly!"

"Well, that's certainly one way of doing it, sweetie..." Mr. Fox reasoned as he scooped up his daughter in his arms. He held her so her face was level with his. "In fact, there's a word for what you did. It's called 'shooting from the hip'. Cowboys used to do it all the time."

"They did?"

"Yeah. See, when the cowboys were having a duel there wasn't time to aim, they just had to point and shoot and hope for the best."

"D'you think I'd make a good cowboy, Dad?" Carmelita asked.

"You would've made a great cowboy. 'Cept you'd've been a cowgirl." Mr. Fox said as touched Carmelita's nose with the tip of his finger. Carmelita giggled.

"Joshua!" A shrill cry rang out behind the father and daughter.

"Uh-oh," Mr. Fox said under his breath as he lowered Carmelita to the floor.

From the house behind them a woman strode out purposefully, with an unfriendly look on her face. The house was a large-ish detached house with whitewashed walls and red shutters on the windows. It was a rural area they were in, the land usually lush, though they were in the middle of a heat wave at the moment, so the land was dustier than usual. The house showed this, as it's entire left hand side had been darkened by detritus blown by the wind.

"Joshua Fox, I hope I didn't just catch you showing our little girl how to shoot BB guns!"

"I hope you didn't too, sweetheart." Mr. Fox said cheerfully. Mrs. Fox scowled at him. "Look, it's ok Marie, I've been with her here the whole time, and I've told her she must only ever shoot at cans."

"I despair. Soon you'll be having her think that these things are good-"

"They're cool Mummy, can I get one?" Carmelita chipped in.

"Thank you Joshua." Mrs. Fox stated.

"Oh come on now..."

"Carmelita," Mrs. Fox said crouching down to her daughter. "I think you're old enough to hear this now. Daddy is a stupid stupid man, and you shouldn't really listen to anything he says, ok sweetie?"

Mr. Fox smiled an irritated smile.

"But I love Daddy..." Carmelita said to her mother.

"Ha!" Mr. Fox exclaimed. Mrs. Fox shot her husband a sharp glance.

"I know sweetheart, I love him too, but he's still stupid. It's best to think of him as a big puppy, okay?"

"Okay mummy." Carmelita smiled and hugged her mother. Mr. Fox folded his arms quietly.

"Anyway you two dinner won't be for another hour or so, so don't get in too much of a mess between now and then." Mrs. Fox said standing. "And that goes double for you." She shot at her husband. Mr. Fox smiled sardonically at his wife as she made her way back to the house.

"Little Traitor," Mr. Fox said once Mrs. Fox was out of earshot.

"I think puppies are cute, Daddy." Carmelita shrugged.

"Okay then, I think it's best if we stopped shooting for today," Mr. Fox returned to more trivial matters as he retrieved the BB gun from the ground where Carmelita had placed it when he'd picked her up.

"Aww..." Carmelita started.

"Now, now, there'll be other days, I promise. I don't want your mother to kill me just yet, okay?"

"Okay Daddy."

"I'll put this back in the shed." He said flicking the safety on the gun. "Why don't you go and play for an hour? I'll call you when dinner's ready."

"Okay."

"See you in a little while sweetheart."

Carmelita watched her father until he disappeared from view behind the house, and then poked her way over to the fence. She crouched down and retrieved both of the cans from under it. She turned both of them over carefully in her hands, a few drips leaking out of one of them made her paws sticky. As she casually wiped her hands on her T-shirt she concluded that the pellet from the gun wasn't quite powerful enough to pierce the can. It was a little dented from the impact, but that was the worst of it. That meant that she now had two perfectly good bug collecting containers. She picked herself up and made her way over to the field that was just across the road from her house. Although Carmelita's parents were constantly stressing the dangers of cars to her, the 'road' outside their house was in reality little more than a dirt track; one maybe two cars a day drove down it. So the Fox's let their daughter pretty much roam the surrounding fields, just as long as she always told them where she was going, didn't talk to strangers, and absolutely never ate any yellow snow (Her father told her that one). However Mr. Fox could rest easy on days such as this one. The land was parched, the grass yellow and the mud full of tiny cracks. Just across the road from her house there was a tiny children's area, just a few swings, a wonky roundabout and a slide that was probably hot enough to fry an egg on by now. It was here that Carmelita was headed, or more specifically, the tall grass that surrounded it. As she neared the swings she noticed that one of them was occupied. There was a young skunk wearing a bright blue t-shirt.

"Hey Jamie," Carmelita said as she passed her gently swinging friend.

"Hey Carmelita," Jamie replied, still swinging. "What're you doing with those cans?"

"I'm gonna go catch some grasshoppers," Carmelita said, not turning around.

"Cool. Can I come?"

"Yeah, ok." Carmelita said with a backwards glance.

Jamie jumped from the seat mid swing and quickly caught up with the young fox. The pair strolled towards the tall grass at a casual pace and before long they could hear the familiar chirp chirp of the various crickets and grasshoppers that the tall yellow grass was teeming with. After about five minutes searching they'd managed to catch around three grasshoppers.

"What're we gonna do with them once we catch them?" Jamie asked, closely scrutinizing a patch of grass that chirping seemed to be coming from.

"Just look at them for a while, then let them go." Carmelita said as she made another grab for a hopper with cupped hands. "Maybe race 'em." She added as an afterthought.

"I'm too slow..." Jamie said sadly after a few more minutes bug collecting. He'd only managed to fill his can with one grasshopper whereas Carmelita now had four.

"Don't worry," Carmelita grinned. "Here you can have this one."

"Thanks." Jamie smiled back as Carmelita carefully placed the bug inside the can. There were a few dink noises from the can before the hopper worked out that every time it hopped it hit its head.

"I think that's about enough for now…" Carmelita said, stretching and wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Are we gonna race 'em?" Jamie asked.

"Yeah." Carmelita said, placing her can on the ground on its side, the hole facing the grass. "Let's say first can to be emptied wins."

Jamie placed his own can a few feet away from Carmelita's, in the same position. They waited a few minutes until a grasshopper nervously poked its head from Carmelita's can before hopping for its life to the grass. Jamie gave his can a gentle nudge with the toe of his shoe.

"No cheating." Carmelita scolded.

"My grasshoppers are shy." Jamie said, gazing at the can. As both friends watched a wide hulking shadow fell across the cans. Carmelita and Jamie turned to face the owner of the shadow, and squinted against the midday sun.

"What're they?" The owner of the shadow said.

It took Carmelita a little while to make out the person who'd just arrived. Then she recognized him as Terry, an older dog from their school. He was wearing denims with holes in the knees and a chain hanging from it, and a scary torn, black vest top. Carmelita was hesitant to answer, as she knew Terry by reputation, and it was nor a good one. The less they had to do with him the better.

"They're grasshoppers." Jamie said proudly. Carmelita shot her friend a sideways glance. Clearly Jamie didn't know about Terry.

"Lovely." Terry said emotionlessly. "I hate grasshoppers."

And with that, he brought his boot down hard on Jamie's can, crushing it flat.

"NO!" Both Jamie and Carmelita cried in unison.

Jamie made a rush for Terry and tried to push him over. Terry lifted him up by his shirt and backhanded him across the face. Jamie went sprawling across the dusty ground. Carmelita could only watch as he slowly picked himself up, tears streaming down his cheeks matting his fur, and a thin trickle of blood oozing of on of his nostrils.

"Bad move skunk boy," Terry laughed.

Carmelita balled her hands into tight fists, and sobs threatening to cripple her chest, she launched herself at Terry allowing her raw fury to power her. Terry flung her to the ground as if she was nothing.

"That's a bit weak, Stripes," Terry sneered at Jamie. "Letting your girlfriend fight for you."

With a face-full of earth Carmelita couldn't see, but she heard a loud crunch that signaled the demise of the second grasshopper can. Carmelita grimly hauled herself to her feet. She was crying now, but out of bitter frustration and rage than pain. She strode over to the quietly weeping Jamie and grasped him by the paw. She firmly led him away from the swings and began the short distance back to the house.

"Pussies!" Terry shot at them as they walked away. His throaty snickering followed them until they were out of earshot.

"Are you ok?" Carmelita said quietly. She was crying, but the ball of anger inside her was clearing her mind and numbing her all to but the actual tears.

"I… I t-think so…" Jamie sniffled.

"Make sure you put some ice on your nose when you get home. Are you ok to get there by yourself?"

"O-ok…"

"You sure?"

Jamie nodded. Carmelita kept hold of his paw until they reached the front of her house. Her parents were still inside. She was glad; she didn't want to have to explain things. Not just yet.

"You go home now Jamie." Carmelita said, forcing a small smile.

"What you gonna do?" Jamie sniffed. "Are you gonna tell?"

"Yeah." Carmelita said. "I'm just gonna do something first."

"Be careful," Jamie warned. Carmelita gave her friend a small hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Carmelita said. Jamie turned to leave, and set off down the road at full pelt. Carmelita watched him for a few seconds. His house was only down the road, and once he got there he'd have to tell his parents what happened, so if she was going to do this it'd have to be done now. She ran quickly and quietly around the back of the house.

Terry once again focused his magnifying glass on a dormant grasshopper. The insect stood the white-hot power of the sun for a full second before deciding to take its chances in the wilderness that was the tall grass. Terry growled impatiently and looked carefully around for another bug to fry. After a few more minutes searching in which he managed to singe a patch of grass and severely worry several more grasshoppers he heard a crunch of earth behind him. He wheeled around quickly, worried for a second that an adult might've been watching him. It was Carmelita again, just standing there, watching him with her hands behind her back. Terry sneered at her.

"Back for more, eh, Foxy?" He laughed. "Come on then, take your best shot."

Carmelita bared her teeth and pulled both hands from behind her back. She opened fire with two of the electric BB guns from her father's shed. It was the easiest shooting she'd ever done. The ball of anger inside her did all of the aiming and firing for her; all she had to do was focus on her target. With every pellet that fired from her twin guns, with every agonizing yelp that Terry let out her anger flared more and more, and she was reminded that he deserved it, deserved every single welt that the guns delivered, and that made her smile. She grinned a fiery grin as she dealt out white-hot justice, and the sun dried her tears and the wind carried her laughter out over the tall grass. Terry didn't stay for the whole performance, but he did get about a clip and a half's worth of pellets strike him about the head and shoulders. That day Carmelita learnt that sometimes violence could be justified, that sometimes the only defense is a good offence, and that she liked the taste of scorching revenge. She saw off Terry with all guns blazing, and despite her young years, she knew she wanted to do it for the whole of her life.


	6. Luck be a Lady

Sly leaned back as Carmelita finished her story. The rain outside the bar continued to lash down; the overhead storm showed no signs of abating. He took a sip from his drink as Carmelita stared into her own glass, lost in memory.

"So..." Sly said hesitantly, remembering to keep up his accent, "So that was your first experience of a bully?"

"Yeah," Carmelita sighed. "I guess it was. I've been dealing with criminals like that ever since."

"Do tell."

Carmelita shot Sly a sideways glance.

"Did you get in any trouble afterwards?" Sly said quickly.

"A little." Carmelita replied. "My Mum was livid, and my Dad was a little mad until he heard why I did it."

"He sounds like a lovely chap." Sly smiled.

"Yeah. I think he got in more trouble with my mum than I did." She said with a giggle.

"Well, that can often be the case."

"It was because of him that I joined the force, you know." She continued.

"Really?"

"Uh -huh. He was a security guard. He tried to get into the police but he failed the exams. He made sure that I went to university and got the grades I needed to do anything I wanted."

"But I'll wager all you've ever wanted to be is a cop, right?" Sly finished the thought.

Carmelita raised her glass to him and sank the last of her drink.

"A very noble cause," Sly continued waxing lyrical. Carmelita snorted with disdain and slapped her palm on the bar top for another drink.

"You don't think?" Sly asked.

"You really don't have a clue about how law enforcement works, do you?"

The bartender brought Carmelita a refill.

"Well, I must confess that I really don't." Sly half lied.

"When we make an arrest, we have to wade through tons of red tape and paperwork just to get the bastards to court. In the meantime they're a drain on the budget, which as it happens would embarrass a primary school drama department. And if god forbid, they have a little money they can forestall the legal process even longer."

"Oh." Sly said quietly.

"And then when you throw lawyers and crooked cops into the mix it becomes a whole heap of fun."

"Quite." Sly commented. "It sounds like you've had enough of the business."

"Yeah, well," Carmelita muttered. "I got burnt by the system."

"Burnt?"

"Two week suspension without pay." Carmelita sank yet another whiskey. The girl could hold her liquor.

"How…how did that happen?" Sly could help himself from asking. He had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I let a perp escape." Carmelita sighed, folding her arms on the bar top and resting her head on top.

"…oh…" Sly said weakly.

"I mean, I filed the report, I went through all the correct channels, but they still said I was grossly incompetent."

"Why?" Sly said, completely losing the accent. Luckily Carmelita had had too much booze to notice.

"This bastard, we had him in the chopper, on the way to the precinct," Carmelita said suddenly turning to Sly. He got the impression that their previous encounter had weighed somewhat heavily on the inspector's mind of late.

"…and after about ten minutes I discover that his little friends have bribed the pilots and rigged the engine to fly us around in circles. Where upon he jumped out of the goddamn plane and parachuted away with a parachute he keeps concealed under his clothes. I mean for God's sake, who wears a parachute constantly?"

"Right…" Sly gulped whist trying to simultaneously deal with the fact that Carmelita thought he was a bastard and appease his guilt that he got the poor girl suspended. "So how is that your fault?"

"Ah, well, that's the interesting thing," Carmelita said with a humorless grin. "My report clearly stated that I was armed at the time, with a shock pistol. It's against protocol to shoot to kill when the target isn't an immediate threat. So the DA said I should have taken the shot because the shock pistol is a non-lethal weapon."

"But if you'd have taken the shot he'd have died anyway…" Sly half groaned with his eyes closed.

"We were 2000 feet above Paris. If I'd paralyzed him he would've dropped like a stone."

Sly groaned inwardly. His guilt was complete.

"Course, the DA glossed over that little detail."

"Let me…let me buy you another drink." Sly clumsily regained his accent. "Another shot for the lady," He said aside to the bunny bartender.

"Should've taken the damn shot." Carmelita said miserably as yet another whisky straight was planted in front of her.

"Why…why didn't you?" Sly knew he should probably drop the subject but he couldn't resist.

"I dunno. I guess because he wasn't posing any immediate threat to anyone, and I don't like shooting people in the back. And," She added as an afterthought, "I owe him a couple of favors. Long story."

Sly merely nodded at this. His curiosity for the time being had been satisfied. He hadn't really expected Carmelita to elaborate any further on why she hadn't shot him. If he were feeling narcissistic he would've said that the legendary Cooper charm had played some part. Still, he knew he's have to work something out to get Carmelita back in Interpol's good books.

"I'm sure you'll get him eventually," Was all the comfort Sly could offer right now though.

"Hmph." Carmelita said, noncommittally. "Well, I'm the inspector who knows the most about this guy, so while I'm suspended this city's gonna be his little playground."

"What a horrible thought," Sly said, while making a mental note to rob Paris blind over the next two weeks.

"Can you see them?" Murray said, keeping low to the tabletop.

"Yeah, pull me back," Bentley replied. Murray had eased Bentley's wheelchair just proud of three tall leafy fern that their table was behind so he could see over to the bar. Murray reeled the tortoise back quickly.

"So what are they doing?"

"Just sitting and talking. It looks like she's had a few."

"Oh." Murray whispered. "What are they talking about?"

"How the hell would I know that?" Bentley hissed at the hippo. Murray nodded earnestly.

"I sometimes wonder how she got to be police inspector." Bentley breathed. "I mean the guy's got black rings around his eyes anyway, take his mask away and what've you got?"

"I dunno, sometimes I'm not sure who Sly is until he puts his mask on." Murray smiled pleasantly. Bentley stared at his friend for a few seconds.

"The hell with this…excuse me," Bentley managed to discreetly attract the attention of a mouse who was collecting glasses.

"Could we have a bottle of bourbon over here please?"

"I'm afraid you have to order at the bar sir."

"I'll give you 50 euros." Bentley said evenly.

"Will Jim Beam be alright, sir?"

"Well, you know, I'll be around for a while, so if you'd like to meet up again and perhaps talk some more I'd be more than happy to meet up with you." Sly said. It was a clumsy way of asking her out he knew, but it was the traditional British awkward charm angle that he was going for. He was just hoping that Carmelita was numb enough from the alcohol for her to fall for it. She cracked a large smile at him. Bingo.

"Well, I'm not sure...I mean I don't usually..."

"Don't get me wrong Mrs. Fox, I'm not after anything untoward. It's just I find you very stimulating company, and... Well, if I might make so bold you seem very down at the moment, and I would love to take you out to dinner and perhaps attempt to cheer you up some more."

Her smile widened. He had her.

"Ok," She said with abandon. "Why not."

She took a business card from her inside jacket pocket and a pen. Sly watched her as she wrote her phone number on the back. Maybe it was the booze that was beginning to gently massage the back of his brain but he couldn't take his eyes off Carmelita. Even in his current state he was vaguely aware that someday she was going to get the better of him. Why couldn't she be a big grim male cop? Why did she have to appeal to Sly's fantasies? The only reason that she kept catching up with him was because he wanted her to. One day he was going to take too long, stop to flirt just one time too many, and the enchanting Miss Fox would drop him before you could say 'tequila slammer'. For a brief moment Sly had a compelling urge to tell Carmelita the truth. In his mind's eye he could see himself dropping the false accent and baring his soul to Carmelita, who he'd take in his arms and whisk away to a private place. Sly blinked. The drunken moment passed and he was back at the bar. Carmelita extended two fingers and passed him the card with a sly smile.

"Thank you," The raccoon gulped.

"Anytime," Carmelita replied as she pulled her coat on and finished her last drink. "See you soon."

The vixen rose from her chair and strode purposefully away from the bar to the entrance. Sly watched her push her way through the glass doors, and he could just make her out hailing a taxi from the rainy sidewalk. Sly breathed a deep sigh and looked at the card Carmelita had given him. Detective Inspector Carmelita Fox of Interpol, followed by what was presumably her work number. Sly flipped the card and found her home number. He failed to suppress a large cheesy grin. He had in his possession the holiest of holy grails. He slipped it in his inside jacket pocket. While he was there he retrieved his wallet and thumbed through it for his bar tab. He counted out how much he owed and added a generous tip. He tossed the notes on the bar and downed his drink with a wince. The bunny bartender retrieved the money and the empty glasses.

"I can't believe you got away with that," She said to him through a half smile.

"Makes two of us," Sly grinned, once again in his normal voice.

Sly slid from his barstool and shakily made his way back to his friends' table. When he got there he found that they were engaged in a Herculean meeting of the minds. A debate, if you will, of epic, nay godly proportions that nothing Sly had hitherto witnessed equaled.

"Hoppy the Marvel bunny could so beat the Samurai Pizza Cats!" Murray whined.

"You're insane." Bentley slurred.

"Hey guys." Sly said cautiously, edging slowly into his chair in such a way that he could get away quickly.

"Well, if it isn't the great Casanova," Bentley giggled. "How'd it go?"

"Got her number!" Sly gloated.

Murray laughed out loud and raised a goliath pink palm to Sly, whilst Bentley merely shook his head.

"Unbelievable."

"What do you mean?" Sly asked, high fiving Murray.

"How did she not recognize you?"

"I am a master of disguise." Sly retorted carelessly. Bentley snorted.

"You look exactly the same, man." Bentley said candidly.

"I do?" Sly checked, genuinely surprised. Bentley nodded at him.

"Well, it doesn't matter. The point is I got her number and once again the charm and skill of Sly Cooper triumphs."

"Well, that was very nice Sly. Wanna shout that again, I think there may have been one or two OAPs who didn't hear you at the back of the room the first time." Bentley deadpanned.

"Sorry." Sly said sheepishly.

"No matter," Bentley said, waving his hands, as if to dispel bad thoughts. "Drink with us."

"I thought you were supposed to stay off the alcohol." Sly said shrewdly.

"Weeeell that all depends on how you look at it," Bentley drawled while he retrieved a bottle of pills from a small bag that hung on the back of the wheelchair. "Look, here it says 'Alcohol may intensify effect'." He said, running his finger along a tiny line of print on the bottle.

"Now that could either be a warning or a serving suggestion."

Sly let out a disbelieving laugh, to which Bentley and Murray joined in.

"Alright," Sly said, accepting the half full bottle of Bourbon from the tortoise. He supposed if he started drinking too it would be less booze for Bentley, which in his current state could only be a good thing.

"It has been a while since we all went out together."


	7. In Vino Veritas

They had arrived in Paris three nights ago. The past week had flown by in a blur for the three friends. They had each been provided with a crappy bed sit and white collar job on the eve of their eighteenth birthdays (a quick half hour of computer hacking on Bentley's part had miraculously equalised his, Sly's and Murray's ages to the day) and they were each shipped to a separate corner of town, told where to turn up for work the following day and provided with fifty dollars to tide them over until their first paycheque arrived. Needless to say, each of the team was there for all of five minutes to ransack the place of anything of value before meeting at the bandstand in the centre of town, as agreed.

It was at about nine o'clock when Murray came bouncing up to the empty bandstand, his arms bulging with an assortment of items from the apartment, including a table lamp, a kettle and a tiny black and white TV.

"Guys?" He called out tentatively. "Anyone here?"

Silent shadows answered him, contrasting sharply with the pale yellow vomit from a nearby streetlamp.

"Guys?" He tried again, a little more worry creeping into his voice. He was late, but only by about ten minutes. The guys wouldn't leave without him…would they?

"I'm here," came an irritable voice from behind the stand. After a few seconds Bentley emerged, dragging a heavy leather suitcase behind him.

"Thank God," Murray breathed with relief. "I thought I'd missed you."

"You are late," Bentley said, checking a small table side clock from his suitcase, "but it's ok. We have as much time as we need now."

"Yeah," Murray chuckled in excitement. He knew just as Bentley did that they were about to begin a journey that would transform their lives.

"Where's Sly?" Murray asked checking around. The small tortoise seemed to be alone.

"I have no idea." Bentley shivered. "He's late too."

Suddenly a piercing high-pitched laugh rang out over the deserted streets and drizzle damp roads that made the hippo and tortoise near die of fright. Both their heads snapped in the direction of the sound; the top of the bandstand. A few seconds passed after the laughter had died away, and silence and stillness reigned supreme. Bentley and Murray dared not breathe in that horrible few moments. Then a familiar blue cap and black-circled eyes emerged over the top of the edge of the bandstand.

"Sly you complete tool!" Bentley roared. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Murray simply exhaled deeply.

"Aw, c'mon guys, I thought it'd be dramatic." Sly quipped.

"Yes, well, what it lacked in originality it made up for in volume," Bentley said sardonically. "Have you been up there the whole time?"

"Uh-huh. I wanted to surprise you guys." The raccoon beamed.

"You did."

"Aw, I knew it was Sly all along." Murray said.

"Sure ya did big guy," Sly replied cheerfully, hopping down to the ground. He had his cane with him as per usual, but this time there was what appeared to be a folded over bed-sheet on the end, bulging with unknown items.

"Hey you got a TV?" Sly said, gesturing to Murray's collection of recently purloined items. "All I got was a radio and a cheap cassette player."

"It's only black and white." Murray reasoned. "I figured we could trade it for a better one once we get settled in Paris."

"Good idea." Sly concurred.

"Not to rain on anyone's parade here, but did either of you guys bring any food?" Bentley interrupted the pair. Both Sly's and Murray's faces fell. Bentley rolled his eyes.

"Right. Well, it's a good thing I raided the fridge in my place before I left."

The raccoon and Hippo brightened up.

"You're the man Bentley." Murray exclaimed to his diminutive green pal.

"Yeah, well." Bentley smiled. "Now, can I assume that you both got fifty dollars petty cash?"

Both Sly and Murray nodded.

"Right, well the hundred and fifty we have between us we can…" He paused to look at Murray, whose face was screwed up in concentration and was frantically counting on his fingers.

"It's ok Murray, it makes one hundred and fifty dollars, you an trust me."

Murray smiled and nodded.

"Right, well we can use that money to get food tomorrow. As much as we can, canned stuff and non perishables preferably."

"Bentley, you make it sound like we're going off to live in a bunker." Sly chipped in.

"We have to be careful Sly, there's no telling how long it'll take us to get to France, or where we'll stay when we get there. The more provisions we have now, the better."

"Understood." Sly nodded. Bentley nodded back.

"But…what do we do right now?" Murray said, asking the obvious question.

"I'm glad you asked that Murray." Bentley said. "Now, we find a car."

Murray's eyes lit up like headlights.

About an hour later the three friends were sat in a stolen Volkswagen under a toll bridge a few miles outside the town. Bentley had advised against Murray's first choice, a rather sporty BMW on the grounds that they would be about ten times more likely to get caught. The car that they had finally selected was located not particularly close to any houses, and was parked in such a way to suggest that no one actually gave a crap about it. It was a sickly yellow colour and had rust spots all over the bodywork. After a quick check for an alarm, Sly forced the lock; Bentley hotwired the engine and Murray bunny-hopped it to somewhere inconspicuous. The big hippo drummed his fingers on the wheel, while Sly yawned next to him.

"Wasn't bad for a first run," the Murray mused.

"Hmn?" Sly said, waking up a little.

"It wasn't bad, for a first drive I mean," he replied.

"No, it was quite good," Sly said sleepily. "You hardly hit anything at all."

"Guys, it's freezing in here," Bentley chipped in from the back seat.

"Sorry dude," Murray said turning to his friend. The tortoise was perched on the back seat beside their pile of stuff. There hadn't been time to pry the boot open, so they had simply piled everything they owned into the back, closely followed by Bentley. The only thing that wasn't in the back was Sly's cane, as the raccoon like to keep that with him at all times.

"I have to keep the engine running to get the heater to work and we're down to half a tank as it is."

"Damn." Bentley commented. He wrestled his duvet from under their pile of junk and carefully wrapped it around himself. Once he'd made sure that he was totally covered by the blanket save for his head and that no cold air could get in, he pulled his arms and legs into his shell. He looked like the cherry on top of an ice-cream dessert. Sly craned around to look at his friend.

"I keep forgetting you can do that," He said, returning to gazing idly out of the window. A light drizzle was beginning to form on the tarmac outside, beyond the bridge. He scooched down in his seat to see if there were any stars out, but the night was too cloudy. He sighed. Murray continued drumming his fingers.

"I'm getting kinda cold now too," Murray said pathetically.

"You didn't bring a blanket," Sly stated.

"I didn't think…" Murray's eyes became big and dewy.

"Oh, alright," Sly conceded, "You can share mine."

"Thanks Sly." Murray smiled widely.

"But I am not stretching it out over two seats. Let's get in the back with Bentley."

The raccoon leant into the back seat and began to pile their stuff save for his blanket at the foot of the passenger seat. After it had all been moved, he hopped in the back and took the window seat. Then Murray (after some amount of difficulty), squeezed into the back between his friends. Murray took up a lot of the material, but since Sly had lucked out with the bed in his room and the blanket was from a double bed there was even enough to give Bentley an extra layer.

"I love you guys." Murray sniffed.

"We love you too," Sly reciprocated, "just keep your hands to yourself."

"Yes, I must admit, you and Sly have become family." Bentley smiled.

Murray put his arms around his friends while Sly just stared quietly.

"Do you guys remember anything about your parents?" He asked after a little while.

"Not me." Bentley replied. "My earliest memories are of the orphanage. I think I even got my name from them."

"That's sad." Murray said sympathetically. Bentley shrugged, well sort of shrugged, since he was now essentially a giant living walnut whip.

"You don't miss what you never had."

"What about you, Murray?" Sly glanced up at his gargantuan friend.

"Well, I don't think I remember my parents, but I do have the dimmest memory of lots of other hippos…I think I must have been the runt of a big litter."

"Hmm." Sly commented. Bentley and Murray could kind of sense what was coming. As Sly's friends there was a kind of unspoken agreement between them to never mention Sly's parents and their tragic demise.

"I can remember my parent's quite well." Sly said quietly. The tortoise and hippo remained silent; there really wasn't anything they could say.

"I told you guys what happened to them right?" He continued, more loudly this time.

"You told us that they were killed by a gang who robbed your house…" Bentley said, as tactfully as he could.

"Yeah," Sly sighed. "I ever tell you guys what they stole?"

Bentley and Murray exchanged a glance.

"Er, no Sly, you just told us that they trashed the house and…you know…" Murray trailed off. Sly smiled a small smile at him to alleviate the hippo's guilt.

"Yeah. Well, remember how I told you I come from a long line of thieves?"

"Uh-huh,"

"I wasn't kidding. As far back as we can trace there's been a Cooper master thief, and every one of them passed a book down generation to generation filled with all their tricks, tips, jobs, plans and stories."

"A book?" Bentley furrowed his brow.

"The Thievius Raccoonus." Sly nodded.

"A chronicle of thieving…" Bentley mused. "Anyone who had that would be able to become an instant master thief…"

"Well, that's the theory." Sly sighed.

"So…that's what they were after?"

"It must have been. Right after they…" Sly's eyes became glassy. He swallowed hard before he continued. "They broke into the family safe and tore up the book. They didn't take anything else."

"Wait, they tore the book up?" Bentley said, confused.

"Yeah." Sly nodded. "There five of them, and they each got a clump of pages."

"I see…"

"It makes me sick to think about it. My father once told me that there are entries in there that date back to ancient Egypt, the Old West, Victorian England…"

Murray emitted a low whistle.

"How did you get away?" Bentley asked, pure curiosity for the time being overriding his tactfulness.

"I have no idea. My dad tried to hide me when they broke it but I burst out when they attacked him. I woke up when the paramedics were there. They could have finished me off easily, but they didn't. The last thing I was able to do was save this." Sly raised his cane sadly.

There was a long silence for a few moments. The drizzle outside became a full on shower.

"Did you…get a good look at the attackers?" Bentley asked quietly.

"Not really." Sly sighed. "The little pieces I do remember my memory is clouding over."

"Any details?"

"Well…" Sly strained, "there were defiantly five of them…and the one who…who…"

"I know." Bentley said simply.

"He was a bird," Sly said, his voice rising, "an owl I think."

"Anything else?" Bentley nodded.

"Yeah," Sly said as if remembering something for the first time, "but it's stupid. I can't be remembering it right."

"What?" Bentley pressed.

"He…he was a…he looked like a…"

"Yes?"

"A robot." Sly finished. Bentley and Murray exchanged glances.

"Stupid, huh?" Sly chuckled humourlessly.

"Maybe not," Bentley said cryptically.

"Eh?"

"Have you ever heard of the Fiendish five?"

"The Fiendish Five? Didn't they go around having picnics and solving crimes?" Murray said.

"What? No, they were a criminal gang who were operating around about the time Sly came to the orphanage."

"What did they do?"

"Bank jobs mostly. They were notorious for about three years, and then they just stopped, no one knows why."

"Wait, how do you know this?" Sly asked.

"I read the papers." Bentley shrugged.

"Bentley, you were six years old when I came to the orphanage."

"Yeah?" Bentley stated.

"Never mind. Anyway what's the point?"

"Well, the leader of the Fiendish Five was an Owl who was, as far as all the available sources was heavily into body modification and had most of his organic body replaced with cybernetic components."

"Yeah?" Sly said with great interest.

"Yeah. No one knows what his real name was, because no one can remember a time when he was flesh and bone. All we know him as is Clockwerk."

Bentley's words reverberated through the cold air in the tiny car. For a few moments the whole world was still.

"Clockwerk," Sly simply repeated, staring at the floor. All three remained silent for a long time. The air inside the car became gradually colder and colder, and it wasn't before long that their breath formed visible misty clouds that clung to the glass of the windows. Murray hugged both his pals tighter, and Bentley retreated even further into his shell so that just his nose and upper face was visible.

"Will you guys help me?" Sly spoke suddenly.

"Hmn?" his friends replied. They were half asleep.

"Will you help me?" Sly repeated. He was still staring at the floor.

"I've gotta get my book back. I've gotta avenge my family." He turned to Bentley and Murray. "I'm going after this 'Clockwerk' and I need your guys help."

"Well, I don't know, Sly, I mean…"

"Please?" Sly begged. He was beginning to tear up again.

"I'll help." Murray said firmly. Sly looked up at his friend with infinite appreciation.

"Bentley?" Sly pleaded.

"I…I'm not…yeah. Yes, yes, I'll help you."

"Thank you guys. Thank you so so much." Sly gushed. Murray gave both his friends a bone-crunching hug.

After a cramped night spent in the car the following day was mostly spent teaching Murray to drive. Once he'd got to grips with the basics he turned out to be a natural. Bentley and Sly travelled back into the town and stole some licence plates of a number of other crappy cars, so they'd be able to elude the authorities for that much longer. Sly had managed to smash a licence out of one of the cars, and Bentley altered it to carry Murray's image. It wouldn't stand up to any close inspection, but it should get them where they were going. After that they hit the road, and after a few days travelling reached the coast. With no passports they had to use most of their money hiring a trawler to smuggle them into France. Here they had to abandon their car, and once they arrived at Calais, they spent a gruelling day hitchhiking their way down to Paris. Once they arrived they spent the last of their money renting a dilapidated two-bedroom apartment in the projects, and all three slept for the best part of a day. Once they had all settled in and refreshed themselves they went to work. Sly wandered the streets with his cane by day, perfecting his pick-pocketing skills, and at night Bentley drew up thieving plans. Their first job had been to rob a local radio shack, as Bentley was confident that he could put together a communication device.

Which brought Sly, the following day, to trying out Bentley's latest invention. "Bentley, come in Bentley, over."

"Sly this is Bentley Reading you loud and clear."

"Nice one Bentley, these Binocucom things you built are working."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Bentley's voice came more rasping than usual through the Binocucom's tiny mike.

"Yeah, well, it didn't look like much when we swiped the parts." Sly muttered.

"Ok, Bentley, I'm approaching the target."

"Copy that," Bentley replied. "I'll be with you every step of the way, but be careful."

"Hey, c'mon pal, it's me you're talking to." Sly pocketed the Binocucom and strode confidently towards the jewellers.

"It didn't go that badly." Murray belched.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Sly said from under his arms on the tabletop.

"Well, I think this proves that nothing should be done without a plan B." Bentley interjected. Murray shovelled another fistful of peanuts into his gaping maw. Sly remained face down on the table.

"Come on, I'll get some more drinks in." Murray announced, rising from the table. Bentley drained the last of wine from his glass and sighed.

"Ahh, in vino veritas, eh?"

"Bentley…" Sly moaned, still from the table surface.

"Sly, come on, the important thing is that you managed to escape."

"You don't understand Bentley, it was utterly mortifying. I'm supposed to be a master thief for God's sake. Master thieves don't get chased out of jewellers by security guards."

"Sly, you're not a master thief yet."

Sly raised his head and stared at Bentley.

"I'm sorry Sly, but it's true. I'm sure you will be some day, but for the time being you're still learning." Bentley pointed out.

Sly groaned and returned his head to the table.

"And besides, you did manage to swipe just enough to fund this delightful little outing. And you're still good at pick pocketing."

"I'm a common robber." Sly mumbled. Bentley was about to console Sly some more, but at that moment Murray bound excitedly up to the table.

"Hey guys, they were selling these for ten francs each!" Murray said, placing a shot glass half filled with clear liquid in front of both Bentley and Sly.

"What is it?" Bentley asked, eyeing the glass suspiciously.

"They gave me these too!" Murray exclaimed, dumping a sachet of salt and a lemon wedge on Sly and Bentley. The raccoon still hadn't bothered to raise his head.

"Murray, what is this?" Bentley repeated, raising the glass and sniffing it. He recoiled quickly. "It smells like ink."

"It's a tequila slammer!"

Sly lifted his head.

"We have to lick the salt, drink the drink and then suck the lemon." Murray declared.

"We have to?" Bentley asked apprehensively.

"C'mon you guys," Murray whined. "Here you go."

Murray grabbed Bentley's hand and mad him make a fist, then he poured the salt onto the fleshy part between his thumb and first finger. He then had Sly peel back one of his gloves and made him do the same.

"Right," He said after pouring his own packet of salt onto the back of his hand. "Remember, we lick the salt, slam the drink…"

"Wait, wait, 'slam'?" Bentley interrupted.

"Yeah, you drink it down as fast as you can, then slam the glass back down on the table."

"Won't that break the glass?" Sly asked.

"No, they're real tough." Murray explained. "Anyway, after you've done that you suck your lemon wedge. Ok?"

"I think so." Sly said uncertainly.

"I want it known on record that I think this is stupid." Bentley sighed.

"Ok. On three. One…two…three!"

As one, Sly, Bentley and Murray, licked the salt off their hands. Lips curled in distaste, they sank their tequila. Murray slammed first, followed by Sly then Bentley.

"Lemon!" Murray gasped. All three grabbed their wedges and sucked on them.

"That was cool!" Murray grinned, swallowing hard. "Whaddaya think, Sly?"

"That felt like being raped by a salty lemon." Sly managed to choke out.

"Dude. Not cool." Murray said. "How're you doin Bentley?"

Bentley nodded in their direction.

"Can't talk?" Sly enquired.

Bentley shook his head.

"Groovy. Shall I get us some more?" Murray asked. Bentley and Sly nodded.

The walk back to their apartment was a short but eventful one. Murray declared that Bentley and Sly were his bestest friends in the whole wide world, Sly thanked his friends for helping him somewhere in the region of thirty-six times, and both Sly and Murray got to see what tortoise sick looked like. By the end they were walking down the middle of the road in a line with Murray in the middle and Sly and Bentley on either side of him, leaning on each other for support. They had arrived in Paris, the destination that all three of them had been dreaming of since the day they met, and they had formed the gang that would eventually finish off Sly's old nemesis and reclaim the Thievius Raccoonus. They had clearly made their mark on the city of romance (in Bentley's case a little more than was needed), and for evermore they would regard it as their home.

"Say, do you guys know any songs?" Sly slurred as they walked down the street.


	8. Endless

"Round, round, get around,"

"I get around!"

"Round, round, weehoo, I get around!"

The wheelchair squeaked loudly around the deserted Parisian streets as Bentley, Sly and Murray drunkenly made their way home. It had stopped raining now, but a chill wind still swept over the cobblestones that the wheelchair bounced over, and rippled the black puddles of water that collected anywhere they could. The sky was totally cloudless, and the three thieves were not unaware that they were singing their hearts out and toasting their friendship to a blanket of stars.

They had already sung a modest collection of songs, some with more words than others, some with parts totally made up, but all at the tops of their lungs. Several lights had gone on in darkened windows in their wake, and more than once they'd been shouted at by tired and disgruntled Parisians. They finished off their attempt at the latest tune, and fell into giggling amongst themselves. Bentley slumped into the side of his wheelchair, chucking away to himself, Sly pushed the chair erratically down the backstreet, relying on it just on it as much as his tortoise friend, while Murray brought up the rear, frequently stumbling and tripping over his own feet. The laughter lasted a few more seconds before all three thieves lapsed into a contented silence. After a few moments, Bentley happened to glance to the heavens.

"Wow," He breathed quietly. "Would you guys take a look at that sky?"

Sly and Murray paused in their shambling and cast their eyes upwards. Murray let out a grunt of appreciation, while Sly remained reflectively quiet.

"Y'know, I think I could happily do this all my life. Thieving I mean."

"Well, you know me Bentley," Sly said concentrating hard on his articulation. "I'm a Cooper. It's what I was born to do."

"I dunno Sly," Murray chipped in, suddenly joining the conversation. "We're not just thieves. Not anymore. Heck, we're practically crime fighters. How many -"

There was a slight pause in the conversation as Murray let loose a belch that shook the very foundations of the buildings around them. "How many Coopers could say that?"

Sly shrugged as Bentley twisted around in his chair to look at his big pink friend.

"I've noticed that you get more profound the more drink you've had. I should get some whiskey in."

Sly chuckled.

"I guess we have moved on from simple thieves…" Sly sighed, slowly starting to push the wheelchair again with a soft squeak. "I just wish I knew how much of it was down to high moral code and how much of it is chasing Carmelita around…"

Bentley and Murray exchanged knowing glances.

"Oh." Sly said, realising what he'd said out loud.

"Ah yes. The divine Miss Fox." Bentley quipped. "Of all the girls in all of the different countries we've visited, in all the countless cities, towns and villages we've been to, why her?"

"What? Whadaya mean?"

"Well, I mean come on Sly, of all the girls to be obsessed over…"

"Who says I'm obsessed over Carmelita?"

"Ah, the scrapbook full of Carmelita Fox press cuttings ensconced in a pillow case under the floorboards of your bedroom with the wardrobe on to top that neither I nor Bentley know about speaks volumes." Murray cut in.

The tortoise shot Sly an apologetic glance.

"Damnit Guys!"

"Sorry Sly. You taught us all we know."

"I didn't mean for you to use it on me." The raccoon moaned.

"We're sorry. If it makes you feel better my middle name is Cornelius and Murray has a modest collection of Barbie dolls he thinks I don't know about."

"Oh. Uh, well, okay then."

The three sheepishly avoided each other's gaze for a few seconds before Bentley broke the silence.

"So anyway, to doggedly drag us back to my original question, why Carmelita Sly?"

"Why not?"

"Come on. I don't think she's _that_ good looking."

Sly tutted disapprovingly.

"No accounting for taste. Murray, back me up here, Carmelita Fox is a stone cold babe, right?"

Murray narrowed his eyes and made the 'sort of' face.

"I prefer girls with a bit more meat on them."

Sly sighed and shook his head.

"To be honest, I don't know. She's done something to me, that's for sure. I guess it's because I'm a thief."

Bentley and Murray registered their puzzlement.

"You know how it is guys, I'm a thief, what I do is take things that I'm not supposed to. So what could be more apt that the affections of my most worthy foe?"

"That's an interesting theory…" Murray slurred.

"Plus the idea of Carmelita and I, a supposed master thief and a DI for Interpol seemed vaguely poetic."

"Yeah," Bentley said mulling it over, "I guess I can see that."

"It begs the question of what you're going to do now though, doesn't it? With Carmelita I mean." Murray stumbled after his friends.

"Aw, I dunno." The raccoon mused. "Nothing I suppose."

"Oh, come on Sly, you got her phone number after all."

"And what can I do with that?" Sly countered. "Hello, this is that low down, slimy, worthless raccoon you've been chasing for the better part of three years, I was just wondering if you fancied going out for a drink?"

"You exaggerate. You don't _look_ slimy."

"Thanks, Murray. That, that helps."

They continued on through the streets a little while longer. A massive cloudbank drifted with purpose across the moon, creating a dark shadow for the thieves to negotiate. They hit yet another cobbled patch of street and Bentley was near jiggled right out of his chair.

"We could always prank call her?" Bentley offered after the short silence.

"I'm serious guys."

"So am I!" the tortoise protested.

"I don't know what I'm going to do about Carmelita, nothing for now I guess." Sly said defensively. "I tell you though; she's enough to make a guy go on the straight and narrow."

Bentley looked up at his friend from his chair.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to be doing that for a long time."

"Good. You had me worried for a second there."

"C'mon Bentley, you know I'll never be able to do that. I mean, look at you two. You're a computer expert and more than competent RC pilot, and you" He turned to Murray "have superb driving skills. If both of you wanted to leave you could and you'd find another job to do easily. Me, thieving… it's all I know how to do."

Both Bentley and Murray remained respectfully quiet for a moment or two. The hippo placed a colossal pink mitt on Sly's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. You know, if you ever did want to stop, I wouldn't hold it against you…"

"Me neither," Bentley piped up.

"Nah, I'm not saying that guys, it's just sometimes I wish I had some other skill to fall back on. It wouldn't even bother me except for Carmelita…"

"You couldn't have fallen for a traffic cop?" Bentley muttered. Sly grinned.

"God no," Murray belched. "Those people have cold black souls. As for skills Sly, don't worry about it. I understand that most prisons in Paris have training in both the rock-breaking and mail bag sewing fields."

"Well, if that happens I'll have you there to keep me company Barbie boy!" Sly laughed. Murray glared at his blue capped friend.

"Thank you so much for that Cornelius," He addressed Bentley.

"Hey, come on, all's fair, we all know each other's dirty little secrets. Even if some of them are a little weirder than others." Bentley grinned. Sly guffawed behind him and almost lost his grip on the wheelchair.

"They're highly collectable!"

"Yeah, to eight year old girls!" Sly giggled.

"I'm not speaking to you guys anymore." The hippo huffed.

"Oh, come on, we're just teasing you."

"S'right, we didn't mean it. Look at Cornelius here, he's got a name like a toilet cleaner but you don't see him complaining."

From the chair Sly faintly heard the sound of teeth being gnashed.

"Well at least you've got Carmelita's number now Sly," Bentley cried "Now she'll be that much easier to stalk."

"Hey, yeah!" Murray laughed. "You'll be peering through her window every chance you get!"

"Hardy har har fellas. Although I could sneak up to her balcony and leave her a box of chocolates and a romantic note…"

"Assuming she has a balcony."

"Yes, assuming she has a balcony." Sly conceded.

"And they say corniness is dead." Murray prodded again.

"Okay then, Mr. Clever-no-trousers," Sly's brain struggled to come up with an appropriately gentle insult. "What would you do?"

"Cheese."

"Eh?"

"I'd leave her a cheese on her balcony instead. Girls love good cheese, everyone knows that."

There was a short pause as the information sank into Bentley and Sly. Had they indeed just heard their demonstrative pink friend correctly?

"Are you sure Murray?" Sly ventured, his brow creased in confusion. "Coz I always heard that girls liked chocolates and flowers, not cheese."

"No, it's defiantly cheese." Murray nodded.

"Are you sure you're not confusing girls with mice?"

"Yes! Look, if you leave her cheese you'll stand out in her mind more. She'll keep it away for a while and then when she enjoys the sophisticated taste of an expensive cheese she'll remember you, not like some half-heartedly devoured bitter-sweet chocolate tray."

Murray lat his words hang in the air dramatically for a few moments.

"The really scary thing is, parts of that made sense." Sly commented.

"I told you, it's the profound thing. Take his advice at your own risk though. Oh look, we're home."

The tortoise was indeed correct. Their comfy apartment building loomed over them, a monolith of cheap cement that signalled that their night was at an end.

"Shall we go in?"

"Best had. It's what we usually do."

Murray and Sly haphazardly helped Bentley up the wheelchair ramp, and soon they were back in their apartment. By this time Bentley had already fallen asleep, somewhere in the lift, so they wheeled him into his room and Murray tenderly lifted the tortoise out of his chair and placed him in his bed. Sly nodded the hippo his approval.

"Well, nighty night matey," Sly said, for reasons unexplained adopting a pirate voice.

"Yeah, night Sly. Hey, you think…" Murray started, his voice trailing off.

"Hmn?"

"Well…Bentley…You know, he's…He's gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah, course he is. Wait, what, how do you mean?" Sly stumbled, dropping his accent and trying to focus his thoughts.

"Well, you know…with his back and the chair…"

"Yeah, he'll be fine Murray. The hospital said it isn't permanent. Why're you thinking about that now?"

Murray visibly fidgeted.

"Well, I…you know how I…If I'd managed to get that thing off him quicker, I…"

"Don't go there mate," Sly cut him off. "You'll drive yourself mad thinking like that. Just think what could have happened if you hadn't been there at all. And besides, like I say, it isn't permanent, so no worries, yeah?"

"Oh, good," the Hippo smiled. "I dunno what I'd do if he had to spend the rest of his life in that chair…"

"Don't worry about it. Just get some sleep."

Murray nodded and smiled at his friend, then turned and lumbered off to his room. Sly stared after him for a few seconds and then turned for his room. He was so glad to have a guy like Murray on his team, nay, able to call him a friend. Not having a family had affected the guy deeply, and had forged the bonds of friendship between him and Sly and Bentley stronger than any family ties. Sly knew without a shadow of a doubt that Murray would tear the world in half for either himself or Bentley.

He entered his room and flopped on the bed for the second time that day. He started to lift his shirt up to get changed, but the whole affair seemed like far too much effort so he stopped. He closed his eyes, and sleep approached his quickly, riding the crest of a wave of tequila. He smiled into his pillow and then giggled into it a little too. He had the best friends in the world. They'd had a fantastic night together and god only knew what embarrassing memories would bubble to the surface of his consciousness the following morning. He giggled some more, and dug around in his pocket. He was leaning on something, and that minor discomfort was the only thing that was keeping his slumber at bay. He looked at what it was, holding it three inches from his face, as that was the only way he could focus on what it was. It was his wallet, and wrapped around that was a white piece of paper. He struggled to read what was on it. He grinned as he clocked the phone number and the elegant handwriting of Carmelita Fox. As sleep finally took hold he knew that the possibilities from here on in were endless; no doubt about it, the possibilities were endless.

T H E E N D

Sorry this story took so damn long to finish off, yet another case of real life intruding on my meanderings. I do apologise. Anyway, should have the first chapter of the sequel to this up in a couple of days. Hope you enjoyed!


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